


Before the Sun Breaks Another Day

by accordingtomel, adelagia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, M/M, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 08:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 109,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10589811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accordingtomel/pseuds/accordingtomel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelagia/pseuds/adelagia
Summary: Three months after her disappearance, Morgana returns to Camelot with a hidden agenda, but she's not the only one keeping secrets, and a series of unintended revelations forces her, Merlin and Arthur on an intertwined journey of revenge, redemption and love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ in 2010-2011, canon-compliant through 2x13, and written as an alternate S3. It was beta'd by ravenflight21. Title is from Kris Allen's song _Before We Come Undone_.

PROLOGUE  
  
_Like hoarfrost_.  
  
It was the last lucid thought Morgana had, ridiculous and tiny, but there all the same, cresting helplessly like foam over the waves of her panic as ice etched its way up her throat and seized the breath from her lungs.  
  
It hurt and it burned, and the world withered away.  
  
Death, however, had more pressing engagements, and when Morgana came to, it was to a skyward view of a starlit canopy and soft, honey-brown eyes.  
  
"What happened?" she asked, her voice the strike of flint on stone.  
  
And Morgause told her the truth.  


*

  
  
While Morgana cheated death, Arthur discovered what it meant to be king. He watched Uther bend under the weight of the crown, shrivelled as if he'd gained a hundred years with each minute that ticked by.  
  
When the order came, it was uttered barely above a whisper, but reverberated across the stone walls as though a hundred executioners' axes had gone down at once. The knights were to be recalled from the search for the Lady Morgana; as a full force, they had barely enough manpower to defend the castle against a relentless dragon, and it would be of little use if there was nothing and no one left standing for her to come home to.  
  
Arthur remained silent; now was not the time to fight for Morgana, not when Camelot's thousands remained in danger. And now was not the time to contest his father's will, not when Uther was only holding himself together by the minuscule shreds of necessity.  
  
Morgana was more than just a promise kept to an old friend, more than a ward, more than family. She was loved, deeply and fiercely, and if she was still alive (and Arthur had to believe that she was), she would understand.  
  
With long, heavy footsteps, Arthur left his father's side to join his ragged knights in the courtyard, and welcomed the distraction of Gwen's sweet, sad smile.  


*

  
  
Sorrow.  
  
Relentless and overwhelming, sucking Merlin deeper and deeper into the dark recesses of his mind as tragedy assaulted his life like a steady barrage of arrows in a hunt, where he was the wild game.  
  
Never before had he experienced such agony, such unadulterated anguish. At times he dreamt of horrors beyond his imagination, beyond his ability to repair, waking to panic thrumming through his veins, and he feared this nightmare might never end. While the world carried on in ignorant bliss, Merlin fought to keep his head above water, grasping desperately at anything and everything he could if only it would help him make it through another day.  
  
After a while, Arthur unintentionally became his lifeline, a pillar of unexpected strength in a sea of misery and despair. Merlin clung unwaveringly to his destiny, one that he'd gladly and freely embraced; yet even knowing his life's purpose and duty, every step still felt like an exercise in futility.  
  
And then, one day, things slowly began to look up. Merlin could wake up in the morning without crying, could breathe without sorrow wrapping his throat in a chokehold, could smile and actually feel the emotion sink into his bones. He carried out his duties for Arthur, continued to study under Gaius, started spending time with Gwen once again. He lived again.  
  
  
  
CHAPTER ONE  
  
_A white expanse of skin lay before him, spread like a feast. Arthur tasted the jut of Merlin's hip, dragged his tongue over the range of his ribcage, licked into the valley of his collarbone. His palms flattened across the bed linen, cool and luxurious, as Merlin curled in around him; their bodies pressed together and they moved as one, in his ears nothing but the thunder of his own pulse and Merlin's ragged breath struggling to make itself clear, "Arthur, Arthur."_  
  
"Arthur. _Arthur_."  
  
He startled awake with a low grunt, kicking a tangle of sheets, and nearly tumbled off the bed when Merlin swam like an apparition into view. There was a candle in one hand, not yet aflame long enough to dribble the wax Merlin tended to get all over the floor despite the pricket; its dim flicker scattered over Merlin's face, and Arthur could see that he had only just woken himself, nightshirt unlaced and askew, hair like a madman's. But his eyes were clear of sleep.  
  
"What is it?" Arthur croaked, the last wisps of his dream snatched away into oblivion, where they belonged.  
  
"The king wants you. It's -- Morgana," Merlin said, with some difficulty. "She's come back."  
  
"What?" Arthur nearly shouted, and launched himself from the bed. "When? Is she all right? My _coat_ , Merlin!"  
  
Merlin plucked his long coat from a pile in the corner, creased with wear and Merlin's aversion to clean laundry, and guided Arthur into it. "She's fine. She's back," he said shortly, voice tightening as though it was being restrung.  
  
The chaos whirring in Arthur's mind ground momentarily to a halt, focusing singly on his manservant. "You're not getting _emotional_ , are you?" he asked, and as Merlin rolled his eyes, Arthur gave him a light shove out the door, suppressing the urge to reach for the wild nest of dark hair desperately in need of renovation.  
  
The sconces were low, sputtering in tune with Arthur and Merlin's footsteps as they hastened through the corridors to the throne room. Arthur drove forward, only to stop short at the sight of Morgana, in tatters but for Uther's cloak wrapped carefully round her shoulders. She was assuring him that she was fine, really, in that set of jaw Arthur recognised instantly from their childhood whenever she had got hurt and refused to let anyone see her cry.  
  
It knocked him back a step; in truth, he'd given her up for dead after months of fruitless searches and useless leads, but he ought to have known better, should have trusted that Morgana, who was more resilient than the hardiest oak, would find her way back even when he'd failed her.  
  
He spoke her name, or perhaps only thought it loudly in his own head, for Morgana didn't register his presence. Her gaze rested only on Uther, one hand grazing his cheek soothingly as though it was he who had suffered ill care away from hearth and home for so long. Which wasn't far from the truth; even the most ruthless war campaigns brought to Camelot's doors had not shattered Uther half as much as Morgana's disappearance had, and the grey pallor that had stained his cheeks these many months rapidly vanished now that she was returned to them.  
  
Morgana turned, then, and upon sighting Arthur, gave him a watery smile. It pushed his feet forward where his thoughts could not, and they brought him to rest crouched next to her. He mustered and discarded a jumble of words that seemed flat and stupid in the face of the circumstances.  
  
"How --?" was all he managed.  
  
Her pale eyes sparked briefly and she raised her chin. "Haven't I always told you that I'm the one with the brains in this family?"  
  
A bark of laughter flew from Arthur's throat, and he gripped her hand for a moment. "I'm glad you're back."  
  
"So am I," she said quietly, and the light blinked out of her eyes.  
  
"Arthur," said Uther, the fight in him yawning wide awake, "the scoundrels who took her. She knows where they are. No doubt they will have raised the alarm by now and come after her. You will ride out at first light and bring them to me. Alive."  
  
"Of course, Father. I'll have the horses packed now," Arthur said, and turned to give Merlin the orders, but the man was nowhere in sight.  
  
When Gaius scurried in a moment later, porting a large basket of salves and ointments and potions that clinked in symphony with each footfall, Arthur supposed that Merlin must have gone to fetch the physician.  
  
Assured that Morgana was in good hands, Arthur took his leave and went in search of Merlin. Not only did Arthur need Merlin to help him get ready for the journey, he wanted Merlin to ride out with him as well. Merlin was terrible at fighting, talked too much on the road and was occasionally given to bouts of whingeing -- his horse was too tall, his seat was too lumpy, are we there yet, are we there yet, are we there yet -- but Arthur wanted him by his side all the same. In spite of whatever dangers they faced, things always seemed to work out when Merlin was with him. He was like a good luck charm. Or something more, perhaps.  


* * *

  
  
It felt like panic, welling up within his gut and coiling tightly in his chest, crawling up to wrap around his neck and strangling the very breath from his lungs. Fear filled his mind at the thought of coming face to face with Morgana once again.  
  
By sheer strength of will, he pushed forward, trailing feebly behind Arthur the closer they got to their destination, who either didn't notice or simply didn't care that Merlin was barely able to keep up with his quickened pace. Merlin watched surreptitiously, eyes darting every which way, as Arthur burst into the throne room unceremoniously and came to an abrupt halt. Mostly shielded by Arthur's rigid body, Merlin peered cautiously through the open doorway into the room, both anticipating and fearing the sight that would greet him.  
  
His first view of Morgana, pale, with strips of cloth that had once resembled clothing hanging limply from her petite frame, tore at his heart for reasons he couldn't fully comprehend or explain. But she was alive, no thanks to him, and not for the first time Merlin wondered whether he'd truly made the right decision. Had she not simply been a pawn in the sorcerer's sordid plot to rid the world of Uther Pendragon, an unwilling victim of circumstance? No, he quickly reminded himself, remembering a time not so long ago when Morgana had nearly made an attempt on Uther's life. Surely she had known something this time around, been aware of the choice she'd made, even if Morgause hadn't provided her with the necessary details.  
  
Merlin swallowed heavily, tongue thick and throat dry, burning as if on fire from within. A million questions swam through his mind at that moment -- where had she gone? what had happened to her? where was Morgause? did she remember what Merlin had done? -- but the only real thought that drummed like a steady pulse through his veins was that he had to get away. He was not ready for this confrontation just yet, nor was he prepared to do so under the suspicious glare of Uther.  
  
Somehow Merlin's legs managed to take over from where his brain appeared to shut down, and he found himself standing in front of Gaius' workshop without truly knowing how he'd ended up there in the first place.  
  
"Gaius," Merlin called stiffly, pushing gently on the door.  
  
Stepping past the threshold, he released a breath he'd not realised he'd been holding. A quick scan of the room confirmed what Merlin already knew to be true -- Gaius was nowhere to be seen. Logic would dictate that he was likely bustling to the throne room, or perhaps was already tending to Morgana. In fact, it was not entirely out of the realm of possibility that Merlin had passed his mentor in the hall and had simply missed him as he'd hurried in a frenzied haze down corridors and as far away from Morgana as he could get.  
  
Letting out a shaky breath, Merlin sank onto a stool and rested his forehead against the table in front of him, hands moving to press against his knees. He remained motionless for several moments, focusing solely on steadying his breathing, calming his anxiety, sorting through the jumbled thoughts that were racing around in his mind. Morgana was alive, and she was back in Camelot. But how? And more importantly -- why?  


* * *

  
  
"My lord," Morgana said, effusing her sweetest smile. "If it's not too much trouble, perhaps I could have a bath drawn up?"  
  
Still holding onto her hand, Uther unseated himself hastily. "Of course; I should have thought of it before. I'll see to it myself that everything's made ready for you in your chambers. We've -- kept everything the way it was," he said, uncharacteristically hesitant with his words, and then drew himself up as Gaius approached. "Gaius, you will look after her?"  
  
"Certainly, sire," said the physician. He turned a passive gaze onto Morgana and bowed, stiff. "My lady."  
  
As Gaius set to work treating the bruises and scratches that marred her skin, Uther strode out of the hall, stopping at the door to instruct the guards not to let Morgana out of their sight.  
  
Morgana suppressed a tight frown. The order, she knew, was given because he cared for her and feared that she might vanish again, but being under Uther's roof once more and playing by his rules felt stifling beyond all reason. She could almost feel the chafe of cold, heavy iron around her wrists, shackling her to this man and to this place that would offer her nothing but hateful condemnation, if he only knew.  
  
She pulled her focus away from Uther, and let it rest instead on the man applying no end of strange concoctions to her wounds, and who had done so for years, whether she was suffering from a skinned knee after racing Arthur across the tiltyards or from practicing her swordplay in secret. He'd never let on to Uther that she was doing man's work, even the time she'd nearly sliced Arthur's arm off. "Gaius," she said softly, "it's good to see you."  
  
He lifted his head briefly to meet her eyes, and instead of the fatherly affection that usually cradled his gaze whenever they spoke, there was nothing there. "And you, my lady," he said, returning to work with clinical detachment.  
  
"Is there something the matter?" Morgana asked, slightly taken aback. "You seem... preoccupied."  
  
"Oh, no," Gaius said, and smiled. At least, it would have been a smile if it hadn't borne such a striking resemblance to a grimace. "It's the shock of seeing you returned to us, I'm sure."  
  
A thrill of panic skittered down Morgana's spine. The wariness clouding his face was something she would never have expected, and she hadn't any idea why he was acting like this, or what he knew. In spite of his advanced age, Gaius still had a mind that was uncommonly sharp; all her careful planning would come to nothing if he could see right through her.  
  
"Has everyone been well?" she asked.  
  
"Yes, a few setbacks here and there, but I think you'll find that this kingdom is stronger than ever," Gaius replied, and whether the warning tones were imagined or not, she could not be certain.  
  
Morgana smiled benignly at him. "I'm glad to hear it. I --" She let her expression falter, allowed a hitch into her breath and a quaver into her voice. "You don't know how wretched it's been. Some days the only thing keeping me going was the thought of coming home."  
  
Gaius looked up, a flicker of surprise lighting through the clouds.  
  
"I was lost for so long..." she ploughed on, tears willed into her eyes. "I thought of you everyday, all of you; I imagined your faces and your voices so I wouldn't forget, so I'd have something to hold onto even when I didn't have hope anymore."  
  
"Morgana..." he began.  
  
"I was so afraid I'd never see any of you again," she cried.  
  
Gaius abandoned his bottles and vials, and wrapped a comforting arm around her, just the way he used to. "It's all right. You'll be all right. You're safe now," he said. "You're home."  


* * *

  
  
Several minutes passed uneventfully, and then several more. At some point in time Merlin stood up, began pacing, but he honestly couldn't remember when or how it'd happened. After another couple of minutes, Merlin finally stopped, eyes studying the door in front of him. Maybe if he willed it hard enough, it would open to a new world -- one in which he didn't have to deal with endless questions, relentless nightmares, or the inevitable consequences of his actions. Every time Merlin thought that his life couldn't possibly get any more miserable, fate had a way of intervening and throwing him off kilter yet again.  
  
Inevitably Arthur would come knocking, Merlin knew, and he would ask all sorts of questions that Merlin was neither willing nor prepared to answer at the present time (or ever, his mind quickly supplied, though it was unreasonable to think that the conversation could forever be avoided). Hiding here was a coward's way out and offered temporary reprieve from the matter at best. Arthur would eventually come bursting in, hollering Merlin's name until he was discovered, grab Merlin by the ear or scruff of the neck and bodily haul him back to Arthur's chambers where an uncomfortable round of inquisition would begin. Even if Merlin managed to escape Arthur's clutches for the night, he would always have Gaius to contest with, prodding and poking and digging. The thought was less than appealing.  
  
With a resigned sigh, Merlin gathered his wits about him, physically shaking the tension from his legs and arms, and pulled open the door.  
  
He wandered carefully down the halls, each step calculated as Merlin traced the familiar route to Arthur's chambers with a sense of weary trepidation. The soft glow of flames, radiating from candles ensconced on the castle walls, cast sober shadows at each and every turn. Merlin mentally berated himself for leaving his own candle back in Gaius' chambers, but was equally grateful for the relative obscurity it afforded him. Merlin became lost in his thoughts as he took the route so familiar to him that he could follow it in his sleep, and likely had on more than one occasion.  
  
Something was amiss about Morgana's unexpected reappearance in Camelot, that much was clear. No one would keep someone successfully imprisoned for more than three months and then suddenly allow them to escape. It simply didn't make any sense. Merlin assumed that she'd been with Morgause all this time; which, if true, would indicate something more sinister at work. Then again, was it not equally likely that she'd been taken against her will and had merely finally found a way out of the clutches of her captors? There was one fact that Merlin knew with absolute certainty -- he had tried to poison Morgana, and she had been more than aware of it. Which also meant that Merlin's life was now in danger, by extension. If she chose to share this information with the king, Merlin doubted that there would be anything even Arthur could do to prevent his head from being placed on the chopping block -- assuming Arthur's affection for him remained once he'd learned the truth of his manservant's recent actions.  
  
It was with these images rolling through his mind that Merlin rounded a bend and was jolted back into reality in the harshest of manners.  
  
Merlin froze mid-step, blood running cold as his body instantly tensed at the sight of Morgana's ashen profile outside her chamber. Two guards were stationed on either side of her doors, stoic and imposing. The small, barely rational part of his brain that was still functioning at near capacity shouted at him to turn back, retreat the way he'd come, don't just stand there, you idiot. He made to move -- it was quite easy really; one simply placed one foot in front of the other, heel to toe, and propelled oneself forward -- but he quickly discovered that this task was far more complex than he'd originally estimated. Merlin's legs remained firmly rooted to the ground while his brain continued to defy logic, suddenly throwing into his mind's eye the memory of struggling to carry all of Arthur's armour at once while Arthur looked on in mocking amusement. Except that this time around it felt as though the weight from two individual sets of armour had somehow magically implanted themselves onto each leg, rendering him essentially immobile. The realisation that he needed to move, to act _right now_ before she saw him drummed at the corner of his mind, tapping insistently against his skull, but gravity apparently had other plans for him.  
  
In the next moment, the battle was lost, as Morgana's head instantly whipped around at the sound of Merlin's footfall. Her gaze roamed the hall until it firmly settled on Merlin, lips curling tightly into a hollow smile at the sight of him. Their eyes locked and something unspoken passed between them in that instant.  
  
At once Merlin's mind was flooded with a hundred different thoughts, unique and yet connected in their fervency -- where have you been; are you all right; I'm sorry, but you have to understand; if there had been any other way; it's my destiny to protect Arthur; can you ever forgive me -- but he found he was unable to give voice to any of them. Instead, they remained in a tense deadlock, stares heated with unparalleled intensity.  
  
"Morgana," he rasped out finally, desperately, unsure of what he even hoped to say to her, what he could _possibly_ say at this moment.  
  
But perhaps someone from above was still watching out for him after all, bringing a slight reprieve to the disaster currently known as Merlin's life, as another individual made his presence known in the hall.  
  
"Merlin!" Arthur's familiar voice pierced through the mental fog clouding his mind, and Merlin faintly wondered when the prince had arrived on the scene. But he could not react, dared not break eye contact with the woman standing before him.  
  
Morgana blinked rapidly, twice, eyes cold and steely, the only outward acknowledgement of Arthur's presence the slight flare of her nostrils. Silence hung heavily in the air, the tension so palpable that Merlin wondered if he would feel its icy tendrils on his fingers if he reached a hand forward.  
  
"Merlin, come _on_!" Arthur asserted once again, voice distinctly less patient and tinged with frustration. "Some time _today_ would be nice."  
  
Merlin chanced a quick glance in Arthur's direction, barely a flick of the eyes and a slight tilt of his head. But even in that split second, a single moment when he'd averted his gaze from Morgana, something changed in her demeanour -- the way she held her shoulders, the tilt of her chin, the line of her lips pressed together. There was nothing in particular, and yet even in its subtlety, the difference was obvious; striking, even. It filled Merlin with a sense of great unease, and something like fear crept up his spine, unexpectedly sending a wave of chills through his body.  
  
"He's waiting," she said softly, coolly, no hint of emotion readable in her tone or expression. And without another word, she turned from him, pushing open the chamber door and stepping inside.  
  
Merlin expelled a tense breath through his nose, hands idly playing with the frayed fabric at the cuff of his sleeves, until his legs finally agreed to begin functioning once again. With one last fleeting glance in the direction of Morgana's door, Merlin turned on his heel and trotted off obediently after Arthur.  


* * *

  
  
Morgana leaned heavily against the wooden door, back rigid and eyes fluttering shut, feeling it give slightly beneath her weight until it finally closed with a gentle click. She sucked air into her lungs, fighting the wave of nausea and rage that was slowly bubbling in her gut. _Merlin_. A name she had once associated with kindness, loyalty and friendship now elicited nothing but disgust, violent and uncompromising. Morgana had thought he was a friend, a confidant, someone she could _trust_ \-- but clearly that had all been an elaborate fantasy. Merlin had attempted to take her life, for reasons that were still unclear to her, and it was not something that she could forgive so easily, if at all. The betrayal hurt, like the cold edge of a blade slashing through flesh, burning and draining her simultaneously, in equal parts.  
  
A soft gasp interrupted her reverie, and Morgana's eyes blinked open to the sight of Gwen rushing towards her.  
  
"My lady," Gwen cried out, voice like smooth silk on a sunburn, soothing Morgana's fury with a few simple words. "I'd heard you were back, but I could barely believe it."  
  
In the next instant, Gwen was wrapped in her arms, clutching Morgana tightly to her breast as if she never planned to let go. Morgana revelled in the embrace, her heart clenching unexpectedly as a feeling of warmth washed over her like a light breeze. When they finally pulled apart, it was with great reluctance on both their parts.  
  
"Gwen," Morgana breathed out, almost reverently, as her hand found its way to her maidservant's cheek, cupping it gently. A wave of affection for Gwen surged through her, and for the first time since her arrival back in Camelot, Morgana felt an air of peacefulness surround her. Gwen -- her sweet, loyal, dedicated, beautiful friend Gwen -- stood before her, smiling shyly, worry lines still lightly creasing her forehead. In that instant Morgana was reminded of just how much she'd _missed_ the woman standing before her, and the emotion that hit her felt like a physical blow. She had never known a more genuine soul, a more loving person than Guinevere.  
  
A million thoughts immediately took shape in her mind, twisting and turning into something concrete and comprehensible, but what came out instead was, "Why are you here?"  
  
Soft laughter flittered from Gwen's throat. "Arthur petitioned Uther to allow me to stay on here at the castle for the time being. I think he believed that by keeping me around, it would seem as though you were only gone temporarily, and would eventually return. I'm not sure if he truly believed it would ever happen though." A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth then, brown eyes darting uncomfortably to the floor.  
  
"Hey," Morgana chided gently, breath ghosting across Gwen's cheek. "I _did_ return, and I'm here now."  
  
Guilt, sudden and unexpected, swept over Morgana when she considered the single reason for her return to Camelot. The world would not mourn the loss of Uther Pendragon. No trumpets would sound, no candles would be lit in his honour, no one would fall to the ground weeping with sorrow at news of his death. Uther deserved what was coming to him; a fitting end to a lifetime of tyranny and unjust persecution. Arthur would be hurt by his father's death, she knew, but he was strong. He would make it through in the end, like she'd always known he would. But Gwen, upon learning of the true reason for Morgana's sudden arrival at the castle once again -- how would she react? Would she feel betrayal... anger... fear...? Gwen had already suffered too much at the hands of Uther; Morgana felt glad she now held within her hands the power to avenge Tom's death in a way that Gwen never could. Would Gwen see it the same way, though, or would it simply cause her friend more anguish?  
  
"I'm glad you're back," Gwen warmly broke the silence, hand reaching over to squeeze Morgana's arm, as she grinned at her mistress, eyes alight with a joy Morgana had not seen in quite some time.  
  
"As am I," Morgana responded genuinely. While it may not have been the entire truth, when in the presence of Gwen, Morgana absolutely meant every word.  
  
"I have so many questions for you." She paused, head tilting thoughtfully to one side. "But I imagine you must be exhausted. They can wait. Your bath, however, can't," she said, smiling, and ushered Morgana towards a large tub, steam drifting over the edges.  
  
Morgana undressed and stepped into the water, warmed to the core, a luxury she'd forgone for months in the wild with Morgause and the motley assemblage who came and went with the downfall of Uther Pendragon foremost on their minds. As Gwen bustled about, making the final preparations for the night, Morgana took a few moments to reacquaint herself with the room that she had spent over half of her life thinking of as home. Funny how it had all changed in the blink of an eye.  
  
It felt nearly as foreign as the first day she'd arrived in Camelot, sick with grief and anger at her father's death, stripped from her home and shunted into the care of a man she'd barely known. From the bath, she could see the notches she'd struck into the wall that day out of desperate fury, handy with a sword even then. The governess tasked to look after her had fled, leaving Uther to sort out the child intent on hacking the castle to pieces, and he'd simply stridden in, plucked the sword from her grip and sat her down on the bed, hands resting firmly, albeit gently, on her shoulders. _'You're the lady of this house now,'_ he'd told her, gaze stern yet still exuding warmth. _'You will have responsibilities and appearances to maintain, and I can't have you destroying your chambers.'_ He'd continued to lecture her for several more minutes on proper behaviour now that she was the lady of the castle before concluding with, _'Your father was a strong man and a dear friend who will be greatly missed. The only comfort I can provide you is that I will honour his dying request in the same way I honoured his life. You will always have a home in Camelot.'_ There had been no empty platitudes, no hollow reassurances, just his strength enveloping her in the only way he knew how at the time. But it had been enough, somehow.  
  
Morgana blinked, surprised to find her throat tightening with emotion and the inexplicable thought that if only she leaned forward a little, the comforting scent of that soft leather doublet she'd pressed her face into would come back to her.  
  
She shook her head to clear the cobwebs of memories that still clung at the corners of her mind. Nostalgia was useless.  
  
The water was beginning to cool; Morgana removed herself from the bath, slipping into the nightdress Gwen had lain out for her. She was tired all of a sudden, though the journey back hadn't been half as arduous as she had been letting everyone think.  
  
As she climbed into bed, settling comfortably against the pile of plush pillows at her back, Gwen approached, solicitous.  
  
"Would you like me to stay in the antechamber tonight?"  
  
Morgana smiled. "No, I'll be fine. I've kept you too late already. Go on home, Gwen; it's all right."  
  
"If you're sure..."  
  
Gwen hesitated, but at Morgana's insistence, took her leave just as Uther came knocking softly at the door. She bowed to him, and with one last look at Morgana, left the room.  
  
Uther stood near the doorway, seemingly unsure of himself, unused to asking for leave when a king could take anything he wanted. "I just thought to look in on you and see if you were all right; of course, it's late, and you must be tired," he said, talking as much to himself as to Morgana.  
  
"No, not at all," she said quickly. "Come and sit with me a while. I will be glad for the company."  
  
He shut the door behind him and drew a chair next to the bed, the laugh lines around his eyes deepening as he smiled gently at her. Under the glow of the candle at her bedside, he looked somehow younger, softened, as though all the jagged, icy edges of his character had been daubed away.  
  
"You look well," Morgana said to the face made to look kind by some trick of light.  
  
"I must confess, it's your return that has invigorated my spirits. It's been -- difficult without you. We searched for you for days, weeks. I should not have given up. That you might have come home that much sooner had I not recalled the search, had I -- had I not lost faith," Uther said, his gaze sweeping downward, as though the words were hard to come by.  
  
It was rare to see him struggle -- he had the natural flair of an orator, with a voice that could command a room with a single word and a tongue that spun lies into gold and a faked sincerity so potent it might bend steel, but none of that was present now; all that sat in front of her was a weathered man who'd lost love once and had let the rest of his life give in to the utter terror of losing anything again.  
  
Morgana felt her heart clench for him, once, and she allowed it only out of pity. Uther Pendragon was a small man with a heart that had long ago shut its doors to the world; his actions were guided by fear, and he used that same fear to take from others what had been taken from him. He deserved no more or less than the same mercy he had shown them.  
  
She clasped his hand with a tenderness that belied the contempt simmering underneath her skin. "I'm sure you did all you could."  
  
"I promised your father I would protect you."  
  
"You have always treated me as your own; I could not ask for more," Morgana said, though she remembered her wrists bound in iron and her throat in his grip.  
  
Uther's eyes sought hers, a sheen of guilt and regret displacing the cruelty she'd so often seen there. "Forgive me, Morgana."  
  
"There is nothing to forgive," she lied, smiling as she did so, and stroked his hand soothingly.  
  
A silence slipped in between them, settling comfortably, as of friends who have no need to fill the room with desultory chatter to enjoy each other's company in full. Morgana kept a small smile on her face, thinking of destruction.  
  
In time, Uther rose from his chair. "I should let you get some rest."  
  
"Oh. Yes, I suppose it will do me some good," said Morgana. She rubbed a palm over the bed linen. "It feels so different, after -- everything."  
  
Worry creased Uther's brow for a moment. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Try to get some sleep," he said. "The guards are just outside if you need anything at all."  
  
She nodded, bravely, and let him get as far as the door, his fingers just closing around the handle.  
  
"Please, my lord," Morgana called out, careful to make her voice tremble.  
  
Uther was back by her side in less than a second, concern written all across his face. "Yes?"  
  
Morgana bit her bottom lip in apparent distress, which had the added effect of making her eyes water slightly. She grasped his hand. "I'm sorry, I -- I know I must sound so silly," she laughed pathetically. "I just can't bear the thought of being all alone again and -- Will you stay with me? At least until I fall asleep?"  
  
"Of course," said Uther. "Of course."  
  
She smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

The grey light of dawn filtered limply through the forest crown, as though it could barely dredge up the effort to shine, mottling Merlin's skin in speckled shadow. The knife-edge planes of his cheeks fractured the little sunlight afforded them this dreary morning as they set out from Camelot, but it was still enough for Arthur to make out the dark rings, like old bruises, underneath his eyes.  
  
_Business as usual, then,_ Arthur thought. But it wasn't, really. He'd thought Merlin had been improving.  
  
Watching Merlin out of the corner of his eye wasn't a skill he'd proudly advertise, but Arthur doubted he'd find anyone who could do it better. It had been a habit borne of necessity -- _someone_ had to make sure Merlin didn't accidentally set things on fire, or get tangled in the reins, or fall over from doing strenuously complicated tasks like walking and talking at the same time -- and then it had turned into second nature long before Arthur realised it.  
  
Occasionally Merlin's limbs still acted independently of one another, but nowadays, Arthur didn't just watch him out of fear for his own safety; he watched because he knew there was something much, much deeper going on, though he wasn't sure _what_.  
  
Months ago, after the whole debacle with Morgana disappearing and the dragon laying siege to Camelot, he'd noticed Merlin steadily losing weight, sinking into himself like it was even possible his whipcord frame could stand to get any thinner, on top of which he obviously slept poorly. Arthur had taken to inventing all kinds of ridiculous reasons not to finish his meals so Merlin would have to (and secretly thanked the castle cooks for being chippy bastards who took it as a personal slight if dinner trays came back untouched), and had chosen not to say a word when sometimes he found Merlin napping on the job.  
  
It wasn't coddling if Merlin's well-being was at stake, and even if Arthur _was_ being unreasonably accommodating, it was only because he couldn't figure out what else to do. Although Merlin had still smiled or given him put-upon sighs when Arthur made jokes at his expense, they were hollow and perfunctory, like he had incorporated a quota of mandatory responses into his daily functions, to be drawn out and displayed whether or not he felt like it. And the handful of times Arthur had simply tried to ask what was wrong -- and it was clear that something in Merlin's life had gone horribly off course -- it had been as though Merlin was the one who had the command of a phalanx of knights at his fingertips, throwing up a wall of armed defences so quickly it was nearly staggering.  
  
Maybe it was Arthur's own fault for having contracted a foot-in-mouth disease the time he'd blithely told Merlin they couldn't really be friends because of their stations, and he dearly wished he could take it back. Under ordinary circumstances, he'd likely stand by the statement, but Merlin wasn't a mere servant, scraping and bowing at every opportunity and fading into the background when unneeded. Merlin was always there, had seen Arthur at his worst, had hauled him from the brink of death, had been willing time and again to sacrifice himself for Arthur's sake, and after every turn, he'd still come back to stand by Arthur's side. Sheer stupidity couldn't account for it; at the very least, Merlin was foolishly loyal to someone who'd casually tossed his friendship aside with a run of careless, damning words.  
  
From the corner of his eye, Arthur studied the curve of Merlin's shoulders, the weighted bend of his back, the quiet exhaustion that sang out of every sigh as their horses slowly picked footholds along an unsteady path.  
  
Of late, it had seemed that Merlin was opening up again, as though whatever darkness he'd succumbed to was pulling its claws from him, and Arthur had welcomed that change with relief. Merlin had a smile that could light up the sky, and Arthur couldn't remember when he'd seen it last, but with this morning's heavy mood settled all around Merlin's shoulders like it intended to bury him, Arthur felt his hopes whisk away and tried to stifle the return of his helplessness in the face of Merlin's deep melancholy.  
  


* * *

  
  
At dusk, a terse hand signal from Arthur at the lead brought the search party to a halt. All around him, Merlin felt the bustle of activity as the knights dismounted, set up camp, unpacked their rations, picked through the damp forest floor for good firewood.  
  
The day's weather had accorded with their moods, its clouds hanging low and grey and useless as dulled steel, and the journey had been silent. It wasn't necessary since their target was still at least a two-day ride ahead, and horses weren't exactly built for stealth anyway, but no one had been inclined to be the first to break the ringing silence that surrounded them, a preternatural stillness that seemed to suck even the sound of the horses' steady hoofbeats dry.  
  
Normally, it would have fallen to Merlin to prattle on shamelessly until Arthur either joined in or begged him to shut his gob, but he had no desire to listen to himself talk. He couldn't even stop his thoughts roaring at him, a mess of accusations and pleas and desperation. He'd spent the entirety of the previous night trying to sift through them, trying to make even an iota of sense from it all, but all he'd managed was to make himself sick. He was empty.  
  
"Merlin?"  
  
He jumped a little, and realised Sir Bedivere was trying to take the reins from his white-knuckled grip.  
  
"I'm going to tie up the horses," Bedivere said slowly, like he wasn't sure Merlin would understand him. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Yeah, fine," Merlin scrabbled for the words, heavy on his tongue. He released the reins. "Sorry."  
  
The night's chill was already beginning to settle in, and Merlin felt its touch whisper into his bones. Distracted, he hadn't packed properly; he didn't have much more than the clothes on his back. He cast a glance at the fire Arthur was tending, wondering if he'd be lucky enough that Arthur might let him sleep near it tonight; then again, it seemed lucky already that Arthur wasn't shouting at him about neglecting his duties, like starting the fire in the first place, instead of standing around like an idiot.  
  
Merlin hurried over to make himself useful.  
  


* * *

  
  
_"You need to go back to Camelot."_  
  
_Morgana started, surprised at the unexpected intrusion, hands stilling on the worn pages of the book that rested in her lap. She tilted her head up, meeting the steady, determined gaze of Morgause. "Why? I thought we were making preparations to finally free the people from Uther's tyranny."_  
  
_Morgause nodded, eyes gleaming secretively, and she took a seat across from Morgana. "We are. But you shall play a most significant role in his demise, if you're still willing to go through with it, that is."_  
  
_Hands enveloped hers then, with a reassuring and encouraging squeeze. This was the moment she'd been waiting for all this time, wasn't it? Yet Morgana couldn't help but remember the last time she'd been so close to doing the deed and had failed miserably instead. Did she really think that she would be able to go through with finishing Uther off this time? Morgana swallowed, ignoring the hollow feeling bubbling up in her gut at the thought, before assenting with a quirk of her chin. "I want to see Uther pay for what he's done."_  
  
_Morgause smiled, brilliant and terrifying._  


*

  
  
Morgana slept fitfully that first night, tossing and turning, visions of Uther's brutal and bloody death assaulting her mind, until she awoke with a violent start, mouth formed into an "O" of horror. It had been months since Morgana last experienced such a mental and emotional ravaging, and these recent dreams struck like a physical blow, leaving her with little more than the energy required to climb out of bed and dress. She made the conscious decision to stay in her chambers all day long, staring out of her bedroom window in introspective thought, refusing to be disturbed for any reason, except to assure the guards stationed outside her door that _yes, I'm here and just fine, thank you_.  
  
The invitation to dine with Uther that evening came somewhat as a surprise -- she had not expected him to seek her out so quickly, yet at the same time it made sense. Uther was a man who liked to keep tabs on his possessions, and now that Morgana had been returned to him, it was unlikely that the king would let her stray too far from his gnarled grasp. With great reluctance, while also recognising that this was an ideal opportunity to begin laying the foundations for further events, Morgana accepted his request to join him for dinner, feeling the first twinges of bitterness clouding her mind since the distress of her nighttime visions had faded.  
  
That Uther felt it necessary to have guards accompany her everywhere she went, even within the castle, was more than a nuisance, but she knew it would be some time before he'd entertain the thought of calling them off. As she opened the door, however, to let them know that she was ready to be escorted to Uther's table, it was not one of the nameless, bland sentries who greeted her, but Sir Leon.  
  
"My lady," he said, bowing low, a hand over his heart.  
  
She managed a smile, and when no further address seemed forthcoming, she asked, "Is there something you wished to see me about?"  
  
Leon's eyes widened a fraction, and the smile on her face stayed. They were barely acquainted -- he'd only arrived in Camelot about a year ago to train to be a knight, though his obvious physical skill and quiet intelligence had propelled him through the ranks so swiftly that he now occupied a place in Arthur's inner circle -- but there was an honest, open air about him that she'd always liked. Duplicity seemed beyond his measure, and she admired as much as envied him for it.  
  
"No, my lady. That is to say," he added hastily, "I am at your disposal. I understand you are dining with the king."  
  
"Yes, I'm about to head there just now, although my chaperones appear to have deserted their posts," Morgana said, peering about the corridor for the sentries. Unable to resist, she added, with the mildest causticity, "I'm not allowed out without them."  
  
"I beg your pardon, my lady," Leon said. "I ought to have mentioned it before -- the king assigned me to take over their duties; I'll be your personal, er, retinue."  
  
Morgana raised an eyebrow. "Don't you usually accompany Arthur on his outings?"  
  
"The king thought my services could be put to better use here."  
  
"Well," she said, as they walked down the hall together, "I'm sorry you had to miss out on all the fun with the rest of the boys."  
  
Leon gave a slight start. "No, not at all. It is my honour to serve you, my lady."  
  
Morgana threw him a sharp, but amused glance. "You can call me Morgana, you know."  
  
"Oh. Well. All right."  
  
When Morgana entered the dining hall a few minutes later, Uther rose from his seat, moving to escort her to her typical place at the long table. She plastered a demure smile on her face, averting her gaze in the hopes of disguising her true emotions -- none of which were remotely flattering or appropriate at this particular moment.  
  
"I asked the kitchen to prepare your favourite dishes," Uther said as he took his seat once again, gesturing to the spread of food laid out before them. "I hope it is to your satisfaction."  
  
Morgana was prepared to respond with a pat answer, assuring him that of course it would be fine, when she actually took a moment to survey the food arrayed across the table. For all the lies and half-truths that frequently spewed out of Uther's mouth, this was certainly not one of them. Indeed the expression 'fit for a king' had never rung truer -- some of Camelot's finest meats, cheeses, breads, vegetables, pastries and wines graced the table; and true to his word, virtually all of Morgana's favourite foods had been prepared. She felt a sudden twinge of genuine surprise that he even _knew_ what her preferred dishes were, and was struck with the idea that perhaps Uther paid more attention to her than she'd originally been led to believe.  
  
"It looks delicious," Morgana told him, making it possibly the first truthful statement she'd uttered to Uther since her return to Camelot. And even though she wasn't particularly ravenous, Morgana felt it would be a waste to leave all this food uneaten. Months of living off the land with Morgause had done wonders for her spirit and mental well-being, but there simply was no comparison to castle food.  
  
They ate in relative silence for several moments before Uther finally spoke. "Is there anything at all that you need? New clothes, different chambers, another servant?"  
  
Morgana briefly considered the opportunities that could potentially open up for her, should she accept something from him, but in the end concluded that, for now, playing the part as planned was the wiser option. "No, I'm fine, my lord." A pause; mildly dramatic. "I have everything that I need, now that I'm home."  
  
Uther nodded, swallowed, carried on eating. But Morgana could tell there was something gnawing away at him, a question he was itching to ask, and she welcomed whatever it was that he had to say, if for no other reason than she was looking forward to watching the great Uther Pendragon unknowingly eat out of her hand.  
  
"There's something you wish to say to me, isn't there?" Morgana asked, trying to sound both casual and meek. She bit into a piece of bread, pasted an innocent expression on her face, and scrutinised Uther openly.  
  
Uther's hand paused halfway between the plate and his mouth, eyes rising to meet her steady gaze, searching them for an indication of what he should do. "What happened to you?" he finally managed to force out, though the question seemed unfinished, as though he had more to ask but had stilled his voice before allowing it to spill out. Morgana had to admire his acting prowess -- Uther almost sounded like he genuinely cared, even though she couldn't see how that was possible. Not after everything that'd happened.  
  
Morgana pressed her lips together and looked away. She had known this question would be asked of her, probably a thousand times over until everybody was satisfied, but in truth, the only person she needed to convince was sitting right in front of her. She knew what she had to do. Taking a deep, shuddered breath, Morgana opened her mouth as though to speak, but no sound passed her lips. She stared at the distance past Uther's shoulder, letting her gaze go slack, and began to recount the horrors that never happened.  
  
"It was _terrible_ ," she said cryptically, willing tears to prick at her eyes, purposefully dropping her gaze down to her dinner plate. "I didn't know where I was, and it was so dark. They bound my hands and feet, laughing, as if it were some kind of _joke_ \--" her voice broke on the last word, as the tears she'd conjured up slowly began to trickle down her cheeks. She brushed them away hastily, as though ashamed to appear weak in front of the king.  
  
With a shaky intake of breath, Morgana carried on, her voice quivering harder with every word. "I spent most of the time dreaming of returning home to Camelot, not knowing if I would ever see you all again. It was the only thought giving me hope these past few months. But I never imagined in my wildest dreams that I would make it back here alive." At this, she clapped her hand over her mouth, making a show of trying to stop a desperate cry escaping her throat.  
  
Uther nearly stood from his seat, one hand reaching out towards her.  
  
"I'm sorry," Morgana whispered, reaching up to wipe delicately at her tear-filled eyes, and knowing without even looking up that Uther would likely not press her any further on this topic for the time being.  
  
Worry lines etched his features, eyes seeking out hers in an almost pleading manner. There was nothing but anguish and concern written clearly across his face; Morgana decided to press forward knowing she had the advantage at the moment.  
  
"But I did come to one important conclusion while I was gone."  
  
Curiously, he quirked a single brow. "Oh?"  
  
Morgana nodded. "I realised that my treatment of you before," she paused, breathed, forced the words to sound natural, "was utterly unacceptable."  
  
"Morgana," Uther immediately protested, but Morgana raised a pale hand placatingly.  
  
"But it's true, my lord. My behaviour was deplorable. We don't necessarily need to agree on everything -- and it is likely there are certain issues we may never see eye to eye on -- but sometimes I know I forget my position and act inappropriately."  
  
Uther stared at her with a mixture of disbelief and what Morgana could only define as affectionate fascination. She had him exactly where she wanted him to be, and had to fight back the smirk. "Your firm convictions and strength of character have always been things that I've admired and respected about you."  
  
Morgana tucked her head down to her chest in an uncharacteristically deferential gesture. "Thank you, Uther. You have been good to me all these years, and it took these painful months away from you for me to realise that everything you've done has been to protect me, as you promised my father." With a carefully placed frown and the re-emergence of a watery shine in her eyes, Morgana brought her performance to a conclusion. "I have come to understand that there is an appropriate place and time for my opinions, and I fear I may have gone too far the last time we spoke. For that, you have my sincerest apologies."  
  
The smile that graced Uther's face was nothing short of elated as he gratefully accepted her apology, even offering one of his own. In many ways it was a momentous evening, yet Morgana didn't feel as celebratory as she'd anticipated.  
  
They finished their meals with little acknowledgement of the other, neither wanting to break the temporary illusion of normality; Morgana, however, was not surprised when she felt physically ill later that evening, knowing it had absolutely nothing to do with the food.  


* * *

  
  
Dinner passed in relative silence, as each one of the knights sat around the fire, seemingly lost in their own quiet contemplation. The air was heavy with the knowledge that this journey held a particular significance not only to Arthur, but to the king as well. Failure was absolutely not an option, and the force of that reality was only just beginning to hit home.  
  
After a good couple hours of veritable silence amongst his men -- even Merlin, who usually couldn't shut his trap if it was a matter of life and death, was oddly quiet -- Arthur finally realised that if the mood in camp was going to change, it would have to be through his own doing. With that thought in mind, he began telling stories of past successes of the Knights of Camelot as a way of restoring both their confidence and enthusiasm once more. At first, Arthur's voice pierced the stillness like a flick of a knife on flesh, but soon the other knights were conversing amiably with one another, and spirits finally appeared to rise amongst the group.  
  
It was some time partway through Sir Gawain's second tale of _Grand Heroics as Demonstrated by Prince Arthur_ that Arthur noticed Merlin was not by the fire where he'd been previously. Leaning back to rest his body weight on flattened palms, Arthur craned his neck to investigate the surroundings. He spotted the horses grazing on nearby grass, equipment and supplies scattered about, and Sir Bedivere leaning against a tree just behind the fire; but there was no sign of Merlin anywhere. Arthur swallowed the spike of fear that stabbed at his gut, mentally reminding himself that just because Merlin was not physically in his presence did not imply that some great tragedy had befallen the man.  
  
Nonetheless, Arthur pushed himself up off the ground, brushing the dirt from the back of his trousers, before sauntering as casually as he could over to his second in command.  
  
"Bedivere, have you see Merlin?" he asked hesitantly, trying not to sound overly concerned about his wayward manservant.  
  
Bedivere's face scrunched up thoughtfully, as if he was carefully considering the answer. After what felt like an inordinately long period of time, he nodded and pointed to a spot over Arthur's shoulder. "I believe I saw him wander off into the forest about twenty minutes ago, sire."  
  
Arthur clapped him companionably on the shoulder and muttered a quick thanks before heading off in the direction Bedivere had indicated. As an afterthought, Arthur grabbed his sword and one of the blankets from his stash. In spite of the time of year, the night was dreary and getting colder by the minute. Knowing his luck, Arthur didn’t doubt that Merlin had probably found the lake nearby and was half-drowned already.  
  
He picked his way through the brush and trees, mindful to avoid tripping over an exposed tree root or accidentally getting struck on the head by an errant branch. Arthur could barely see more than a few feet in front of his face, the pink and orange hues of the setting sun having long since faded to the black of night, but he pressed forward all the same. This was the perfect night for bandits, thieves or wandering vagabonds to take advantage of unskilled and unarmed travellers, both of which very plainly described Merlin at the moment. Unable to quell the suddenly irrational sense of urgency boiling in his veins, Arthur reprimanded himself for getting so worked up over a hypothetical situation. It did no one any good, least of all Merlin. Additionally, it made Arthur feel the fool, even if no one else was privy to the thoughts racing through his brain.  
  
Finding Merlin was not as difficult as he'd originally thought, and Arthur inwardly breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing his manservant sitting on a rotting log near the lake -- exactly as he'd predicted, minus the drowning. The clearing provided an opportunity for the moon to peek through straggling clouds, assaulting Arthur's eyes with the sudden burst of extra light, minuscule as it may have been under ordinary circumstances. Merlin sat facing the water, shoulders hunched forwards, head tucked into his chest, and elbows digging into his knees. He looked beaten and worn, as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders alone. The sudden thought that perhaps Arthur was somehow responsible for Merlin's current state made him feel physically ill.  
  
Merlin had yet to notice Arthur's stealthy arrival, and while he admittedly had a sort of penchant for watching Merlin (not that he'd ever share that with _anyone_ ), it didn't feel right. Especially not to invade on what seemed like a trying time for Merlin.  
  
Arthur coughed lightly, taking a couple of careful steps forward as Merlin jumped a good five feet in the air from shock, limbs flailing almost comically in the process. Merlin clutched his chest and shot Arthur what may have possibly been the dirtiest glare he'd ever borne witness to. "Were you trying to stop my heart, or was that just an added bonus?" he grumbled, inhaling deeply once, then twice.  
  
In spite of himself, Arthur couldn't hold back the bark of laughter that escaped his lips. "You really have _no_ survival skills at all, do you, Merlin?" he asked, making his way over to the log he was currently occupying.  
  
Merlin frowned heavily, but there was a teasing lilt to his response. "Guess you haven't been a very good teacher then. 'Sides... I wasn't expecting you. You startled me."  
  
Arthur arched a brow. "You're exactly what the bandits and thieves are looking for, you know. Someone they perceive as weak or unprepared. What would have happened if they'd found you before I did?" Without waiting for an invitation, Arthur plopped himself down on the log, sitting entirely too close to Merlin but not feeling any desire to move. He snuck a sidelong glance at the man, studying his profile for any indication of discomfort, but found nothing of note.  
  
"There was no one out here, Arthur. But had there been, I'm sure I could have taken them on." Arthur scoffed mockingly. Merlin wisely chose to ignore him. "Failing that, I know you would have come to my rescue," Merlin said, sounding for the world like he believed it to be the absolute truth and there was no room for debate or discussion.  
  
He was entirely correct, of course. But Arthur felt slightly uneasy at the fact that he would not only risk his life for Merlin's in a heartbeat, but that Merlin was equally apprised of this truth. In an effort to steer the conversation onto a different path, Arthur yanked the blanket he'd been carrying from under his arm and tossed it haphazardly onto Merlin's lap.  
  
"What's that?" Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow and staring at the blanket as though it were a foreign object.  
  
Arthur rolled his eyes and huffed with mock exasperation. "It's called a blanket, Merlin. I'm sure you've seen one before."  
  
"I know what it _is_ ," Merlin replied petulantly, running one hand across the top. "I meant, why do you have one with you? Here?"  
  
Arthur kicked absently at a rock half-buried under the dirt beneath his feet, taking great care to keep his features neutral. "I had no idea how long it would take me to find your lazy arse, and I wasn't particularly keen on freezing to death," he lied easily, words rolling off his tongue without effort.  
  
"My hero," Merlin said snidely, but there was no mistaking the mildly amused tone in his voice.  
  
Arthur smiled, elbow digging lightly into Merlin's side before they settled into a comfortable silence. For several minutes, Arthur allowed himself to be mesmerised by the sparkling glimmer of the moon's rays dancing on the surface of the lake in front of them. It filled him with an unanticipated sense of tranquillity, simply sitting here with Merlin, staring out across the lake on a chilling but otherwise peaceful evening, and it occurred to Arthur then that he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this calm, safe and in control. That thought was followed by a fervent desire to have more stability and peacefulness in his life, a craving for these things in the same way a starving man craved food, or a thirsty man water. Arthur shifted slightly then, partly because he was uncomfortable with that particular line of thinking, especially when he seemed to equate it with Merlin, and partly for the sake of his princely arse. Merlin cast a sideways glance in Arthur's direction when he casually pressed their legs together, but he neither pulled away nor said anything in response to the action.  
  
They remained that way, bodies neatly pressed together, for several moments. It was at this point that Arthur felt Merlin start to shake. The initial, though admittedly irrational, thought that passed through Arthur's brain was that Merlin was nervous, though what he had to be nervous about was beyond Arthur. It took a few seconds for Arthur to figure out that he wasn't shaking from nerves, but was _shivering_. And it was no wonder, Arthur mused wryly, considering how thin Merlin was.  
  
"You're cold." It was an observation, not a question.  
  
Merlin shrugged unconvincingly, but continued to shiver all the same. "Maybe a bit," he admitted after a moment's pause.  
  
Arthur's gaze shifted pointedly to the blanket still resting on Merlin's lap, hoping his manservant's generally clueless brain would pick up on the not-so-subtle hint he was throwing Merlin's way. Less than a minute later, with no action whatsoever on Merlin's part, the answer was a clear and resounding _no_.  
  
"It's not just for decoration, you know," Arthur said, gesturing to the blanket with the jut of his chin.  
  
"This?" Merlin sounded confused as he tapped the fabric laying across his legs.  
  
Arthur snorted, torn between wanting to cuff Merlin on the back of his head for his ineptness, and ruffling his hair affectionately. He chose neither, forcing his hands into his lap instead as a means of preventing them from doing anything spectacularly stupid.  
  
"Honestly, Merlin, sometimes I wonder how you're able to walk and talk at the same time."  
  
"I'm cold. My mind isn't as sharp as it usually is right now," Merlin protested weakly as he finally started to roll out the blanket and wrap it around his shoulders.  
  
Arthur chuckled loudly. "You'd be doing well if even a tiny part of your addled brain was working to its fullest extent, Merlin," he said with a smirk. A thin smile tugged at the corners of Merlin's lips, and when he cast a furtive glance in Arthur's direction, he could see that the humour nearly reached his eyes this time. It was the closest thing to a genuine smile Arthur had seen out of Merlin in far too long, and he was once again struck with the reality that there was something seriously wrong with Merlin.  
  
"Are you okay?" Arthur asked at long last, finally giving voice to the one thought that had been plaguing his mind all day.  
  
Merlin didn't answer right away, just turned to Arthur, staring, eyes hooded and intense, before he responded with a "Yes," and promptly averted his gaze to the forest floor.  
  
Arthur frowned openly, filled with the knowledge that Merlin wasn't being honest with him yet again. He was anything _but_ okay. However, Arthur had learned a thing or two about picking his battles, and something in him whispered that now was not the time to push this particular topic. It hurt to know that Merlin didn't feel he could share with Arthur whatever it was that was wrong, but he feared that if he pushed too far, he might lose Merlin for good, and that was not even remotely a plausible option.  
  
With a resigned sigh, Arthur placed his hand on Merlin's shoulder, squeezing it in what he hoped came across in a supportive manner, and smiled encouragingly at Merlin when his head darted to the side, their eyes meeting.  
  
Arthur was taken aback by what he saw in Merlin's face. Something about his expression -- dark and yet strangely vulnerable -- made Arthur's stomach flop and his heart rate quicken involuntarily, and it occurred to him just how _easy_ it would be to lean in, close the gap between them, capture Merlin's soft lips with his own. There were barely more than a few inches between their mouths; Arthur could feel Merlin's hot breath on his cheek, hear the way his breath hitched slightly when Arthur instinctively leaned forward just a little. The thought of pinning Merlin to the ground and making him forget everything that was haunting him sent a thrill down Arthur's spine, and he swallowed heavily in an attempt to quash the sudden desire that was coursing through his veins.  
  
The universe apparently had other plans for them, however, as the sound of movement came from the brush behind the two men, and Arthur was immediately pulled out of his pleasurable fantasy, head whipping around at the intrusion.  
  
Grabbing his sword by its hilt, Arthur jumped up to move in front of Merlin, shielding his manservant's body from whoever was lurking in the forest.  
  
"Who's there? Show yourself!" Arthur called out into the darkness, eyes scanning the trees for any suspicious movement.  
  
"Sire?" Bedivere appeared a moment later, brandishing his own sword. "Did you find Merlin?"  
  
Before Arthur had an opportunity to speak, some of Merlin's typical insolence returned with full force, and he popped up from behind Arthur. "I'm right here," he said, and even had the audacity to throw a little wave in Bedivere's direction. Bedivere quirked a confused brow but smiled kindly in return.  
  
With an eye roll, Arthur sheathed his sword once again and started to make his way back to camp with Sir Bedivere, Merlin trudging along closely behind. And in spite of Bedivere's attempt at conversation, Arthur couldn't get what had nearly happened out of his mind. _I don't want Merlin like that_ , Arthur told himself firmly, ignoring the back of his mind that seemed determined to remind him of the dreams he'd been having as of late about a certain manservant who shall remain nameless. Arthur loved Guinevere; he wanted to kiss her and be near her and seek her guidance and approval. That was how it was, and that was how it was going to stay. Or at least that was what Arthur was going to continue to tell himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Dawn crept in with even less conviction than it had on previous days, grudging them only a thin, sickly light that did little to penetrate the fog that had come upon them in the night. It cocooned the forest, twining milky fingers around each leaf and branch, permeating every crevice with its wet touch. The convivial atmosphere Arthur had worked hard to bring about throughout their journey thus far had no place here; it seemed as though they'd been tipped onto a different plane entirely.   
  
Not that it was even likely to make a difference in how things had been going. After giving them the silent treatment, it seemed as though the forest now wanted to make a game out of them; for two straight days they'd been following trails that led nowhere, catching scents that circled them right back to where they'd started. It was frustrating, to say the least, and now further handicapped by the weather, progress would be even more difficult to come by.  
  
Merlin could barely see a thing; there were vague, reddish shapes moving sluggishly in front of him, which he assumed to be a few knights with their cloaks still on, waiting out the fog in silence. And there was Arthur, standing with his back against Merlin's, like they were in a fight stance against an enemy closing in on all sides. He could feel Arthur move occasionally, out of restlessness or straining to hear anything unusual, hand steady on the hilt of his sword.   
  
It was an unusual time of year for a fog this dense, and it had settled all over them until the forest drowned in it. The dreamy quality to its minute drift set Merlin's teeth on edge. There were voices in there he could very nearly hear, suggestions of whispers; he'd catch a wisp of a word as it glided by, or maybe imagined the susurrations forming around him, but he knew they weren't words or voices that belonged to any of the company. The fog condensed on his skin, trickled down his neck like a cold caress. Merlin shuddered; everything felt wrong.   
  
"Arthur," he said in a low voice. "We have to get moving."   
  
"We can't _see_ anything, Merlin."  
  
"I know. It's -- I don't think this fog is going to lift," he said, trying to impress the urgency of it on Arthur without going into further detail. It wouldn't be the first time the prince took his bare word at face value; Arthur trusted him, though sometimes he didn't deserve it.   
  
Arthur didn't respond for a moment, and then Merlin felt him shift round. He called the knights to order. "Get the horses; we're moving on."  
  
A few voices of dissension piped up; in all honesty, Merlin would have been surprised if they hadn't. Arthur didn't mind hearing objections and welcomed the occasional criticism if his men thought he was out of order, and there were very good reasons for them to question his decision now -- visibility was horrendous; many of them had not travelled this road before and could not be sure of the way; they could easily make up the time lost if they pushed a little harder once visibility improved. But Arthur remained firm, and in the end, his deciding vote propelled the knights into action.   
  
Only by memory and sound, distorted in the whiteness, could they locate where the horses had been tethered, but they moved as quickly as they dared and came together in short order, ready to move forward.   
  
"We go on foot," Arthur said. "Stick to the path; with any luck, we'll be clear of this fog soon enough."  
  
Merlin rubbed his horse's nose and took its reins in one hand, more than eager to leave this place.   
  
"Merlin, you're at the front with me," Arthur ordered, and waited until Merlin complied. When horse and rider came up next to him, Arthur closed a fist around Merlin's reins and leaned forward far enough that what had previously been a blur in the mist resolved itself into Arthur's familiar features. "Stay close, and do not let go of these reins, do you understand?"  
  
"Yeah," said Merlin.  
  
Arthur nodded at him and drew back, the fog swallowing him into its shadow once more. At Arthur's call, the party set off slowly but surely, his hand bumping into Merlin's at every other step, a warm reassurance in a wide, white sea of nothingness.   


* * *

  
  
_The blade sliced through skin and muscle and veins, blood thick, warm, flowing over her fingers in a steady stream.  
  
He gurgled, skin clammy and deathly pale as the light slowly faded away, futilely trying to catch a breath that would never again fill his slit throat. Blood pooled around his body, enveloping everything as far as the eye could see, a sea of crimson staining not only the ground, but the entire history and future of Camelot.   
  
As Uther Pendragon's life blinked out of existence, his final communication with his queen came wordlessly. Through fading eyes, he expressed his love, his sorrow, and his ultimate betrayal -- murdered by the one he'd entrusted with his heart and soul. Soaked in her lover's blood, she watched, simultaneously horrified and captivated, until his chest fell for the final time.   
  
And she wept._  
  
Morgana awoke with a violent start, a shatter of porcelain ringing in her ears, and she whipped her head to the side to find the vase on her nightstand scattered in shards.   
  
"No..." she moaned softly, squeezing her eyes shut. It had been ages since anything like that had happened; Morgause had taught her how to focus her magic, how to reel her emotions in and temper them so they wouldn't dive for the first outlet they saw and destroy everything in their wake. She had been getting so much better at directing her magical abilities in _useful_ ways, but now that she was back in Camelot it seemed as though everything was undone.   
  
Several sharp knocks sounded at the door, but she paid the sound no mind, struggling to slow her erratic breaths. Whoever was outside her chambers chose not to wait for permission before barging into the room, and a moment later, Morgana encountered Leon's panicked expression, as he grasped the door handle with one hand, the other ready at the hilt of his sword.   
  
"Are you all right, my lady?" he asked, gaze hastily sweeping the room in search of any sign of intrusion or threat, before settling back on Morgana.  
  
"Yes, I'm fine. I just accidentally knocked over a vase," she lied quickly with a flick of the wrist, holding up a guilty elbow as though offering evidence.  
  
Leon's brows furrowed thoughtfully as his eyes sought physical confirmation, but he eventually nodded his head, seemingly placated by her explanation and the sight of broken shards of glass littering the floor.  
  
"Let me find someone to clean it up for you," he offered.  
  
"No!" she cried out, voice far louder and more insistent than she'd intended. To say that Leon looked taken aback would have been an understatement, but before he could react to her outburst, Morgana was climbing out of the opposite side of her bed, bare feet sinking into the plush rug below. "Sorry, I just meant that I don't want to trouble anyone to clean up a mess I made due to my own carelessness." She elevated one shoulder in a nonchalant half-shrug, shooting him a sheepish look.  
  
Morgana turned her back to him, rummaging around at the back of her closet for the broom that Gwen had started leaving in the room when the nightmares had increased in both frequency and intensity -- in addition to her magic seemingly acting of its own free will -- resulting in far more broken items than could be explained away reasonably. Leon remained rooted on the spot, but she could feel his eyes on her, boring into her back, as he wondered what she was doing.  
  
She answered the unspoken question. "I'm trying to find my broom."  
  
"Do you need any help?" he asked, solicitous, a moment later, when she emerged from her closet, victoriously holding the broom in hand.  
  
Morgana shook her head. "No, I'm fine, thank you." She placed the broom on the ground and moved to pull on a pair of boots to avoid stepping on the broken glass and incapacitating herself further.   
  
"Really, I insist," he said.   
  
Morgana tilted her head up at him, staring through dark lashes, curious. "I don't want to trouble you," she said, after a pause. "It'll be a simple enough task."  
  
"What kind of gentleman would I be if I stood around and simply watched you do all the work, instead of assisting?" he retorted easily, reaching out to pluck the broom from her hands.  
  
She felt the broom handle lift easily from her fingers, so caught off guard by the action that she barely had time to register what was happening at all.  
  
Her expression must have betrayed the surprise she felt, as Leon's lips twisted into a sheepish smirk and he ducked his head respectfully. "I mean, if I may? My lady?" he added, chagrined.  
  
Morgana felt a smile, genuine and warm, tug at her lips, and she didn't even try to fight it. "I suppose I can't refuse when you put it like that."  
  
Before getting down to work, Leon offered her his gloves to protect her hands from the glass, and she gratefully accepted. They worked quickly and efficiently, she picking up the larger shards, and he sweeping up the rest of the floor. Within five minutes things looked exactly as they had before, save for the now vacant spot on her nightstand.  
  
"Thank you," Morgana said. "You didn't have to help me."  
  
"It was my pleasure," Leon told her, nodding his head respectfully.  
  
He stared at her for a few moments, as if uncertain about whether to stay or go. After a moment's pause, Morgana lifted a single questioning brow in his general direction, and she couldn't be quite sure, but it almost appeared as though he was blushing. With a mildly uncomfortable cough, Leon finally excused himself with a coy, if not slightly embarrassed, grin.  
  
He was nearly out of the room before a thought occurred to her. "Wait!"  
  
Leon froze, casting a glance at her over his shoulder. "Was there something else you needed, my lady?"  
  
"Yes, actually," she said, then gestured at him to come back in the room. Morgana waited patiently until the door clicked shut behind him before speaking again. "I would appreciate it if you didn't share this particular incident with my maidservant, Gwen, when she returns. She worries a great deal about me as it is, and I fear that she'd read too much into this. I'd rather not upset her unnecessarily, you understand."  
  
Leon hesitated a moment, lips pressed together into a thin line and curling down ever so slightly at the corners, concern evident in his warm eyes. But eventually he nodded his assent, raising his right hand and shooting her a kindly smile. "You have my word, my lady."  
  
She returned the smile, grateful. "Thank you. And please call me Morgana. Didn't we already have this conversation?"  
  
Something in his countenance shifted, as though a little flicker of something was trying to break through, but it vanished as quickly as it'd come. "All right. You have my word, Morgana."   
  
His smiled brightened as he headed out of the room.  
  
Morgana ambled over to the window, knowing she wasn't about to get any more rest this morning, and resigning herself to that fact. Pressing the palm of her hand against the pane of glass, she sought comfort in its cooling surface. The sky was still clouded over, grey and dark, almost as if reflecting her current state of mind. She allowed her thoughts to drift for a few fleeting minutes, permitting them to linger on the dream she'd awoken from in such a state.  
  
She'd dreamt more than once of Uther's ultimate end, of watching his life fade before her very eyes, but this was the first time her role in his death featured so prominently. Memories of blood filled her consciousness, warm and viscous, coating her hands and pooling at her knees, a river of crimson accumulating into a veritable ocean all around them. She could still recall the feel of the thick liquid spilling past the cracks in her fingers, the coppery smell of freshly spilt blood, but worst of all -- Morgana remembered the haunting expression contorting Uther's face, the betrayal and hurt he could not mask in his eyes. It was enough to make her feel physically ill.  
  
A soft knock at the door dragged Morgana's attention away from the window, interrupting her reverie.   
  
"Good morning, my lady. You're up early," said Gwen, padding into the room on quiet feet as though afraid of waking the whole castle, breakfast tray in hand. Her easy smile faltered into an expression of deep concern. "Is it -- You haven't been having those dreams again, have you?"  
  
"No, no, I'm all right," Morgana reassured her, quashing the spike of guilt that arose in her gut at the blatant lie. But she was only doing it to protect Gwen. The woman had dealt with enough of late and was not in need of another source of angst. "I suppose I'm just feeling a bit restless, that's all."  
  
Gwen nodded, scepticism written across her features, but she didn't press Morgana for more information. Morgana meandered her way to the table as Gwen began laying out her breakfast.  
  
“Sit with me,” Morgana offered, gesturing to the empty chair on the opposite side of the table.  
  
Gwen seemed to deliberate, casting her gaze uncertainly over Morgana’s shoulder -- there was work to be done, her eyes read -- before taking a seat in the proffered spot with a grateful smile. They used to eat meals together all the time, when Morgana wasn’t dining with Uther, and there was something comforting to be able to do so once again.  
  
“Tell me how you’ve been,” Morgana started, picking through the food in front of her, and glanced expectantly at her friend.  
  
Gwen shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. “I’m not sure what you want to know,” she admitted, plucking a piece of fruit delicately from the tray that sat between them.  
  
“What’s happened here since I... was taken away?” She swallowed and glanced down at her plate. “What has everyone been up to in my absence? But more importantly, how have you been?”  
  
Truthfully, Morgana cared very little for an update on castle gossip, or a play-by-play of the recent happenings in Camelot. She was aware of the search for her and eventual abandonment of said search, of the dragon attack, the hunt for the last Dragonlord, and the general comings and goings of notable guests in the castle since her departure. Morgause had made a point of apprising her of relevant information pertaining to Camelot and its inhabitants in preparation for her eventual return.  
  
No, Morgana was decidedly more interested in keeping the conversation as far away from her own imaginary kidnapping as she possibly could. She may have been able to flagrantly lie to Uther’s face, but the one person she’d never manipulated was Gwen, and Morgana intended to keep it that way, if at all possible. However, for less selfish reasons, Morgana truly cared about her maidservant and did genuinely want to know what had happened in her life over the past several months.  
  
Gwen smiled warmly, then proceeded to inform Morgana of everything that had occurred in the past few months. Uther's distraught disposition at Morgana's kidnapping, as well as Arthur's relentless search for her, often forgoing sleep and food in favour of spending just one or two more hours out on the road. Gwen spoke of Gaius and Merlin -- Morgana took special care to school her features into perfect neutrality at the utterance of Merlin's name, for fear of inadvertently revealing her fury with him to an unsuspecting Gwen -- then proceeded to share some of the latest castle gossip in conspiratorial tones, as though anyone walking past her door would be able to hear.  
  
In spite of having to listen to Gwen speak of Merlin as though he were a trustworthy friend and not a murderous traitor, Morgana believed that some of that information might come in handy in the future, and was grateful to Gwen for sharing it with her. Admittedly, it also felt good to know that the kinship she shared with Arthur was still standing firm; she may need to rely on some of the trust and affection he held for her if trouble arose in her plans for Uther. Interestingly enough, Morgana noted throughout her stories that there was a significant person she'd neglected to mention.  
  
Morgana plucked a piece of cheese from the plate and held it between her thumb and index finger, letting it dangle loosely in her hand as she caught Gwen's eye. "Thank you for the update. I've missed spending time with you," Morgana said with affection. "But tell me -- what of you? I noticed that you never spoke of yourself even once, and yet you're the one I'm most interested in."  
  
Gwen ducked her head and grinned shyly. "I'm not sure that there's much to share," she admitted, gaze shifting to stare at a spot on the table as though it was the most fascinating sight she'd ever beheld.  
  
Morgana reached across the table, tapped her on the back of the hand. "Somehow I doubt that."  
  
Soft brown eyes met hers a moment later. "I suppose there have been a few changes in my life as of late."  
  
"Tell me," Morgana encouraged, smiling.  
  
Gwen nodded. "Well, my father's friend, Paul, recently decided to re-open my father's blacksmith shop. When I haven't been seeing to my duties in the castle, I've been training under his guidance. I know as a woman I can't ever take over the shop on my own, but perhaps one day I could work alongside Paul. My father would have liked that."  
  
Morgana beamed at her friend, pride swelling in her chest. "It won't always be that way," she said, belatedly realising that Gwen would have no reason to put hope in her words. As far as things stood in society at the present moment, women held about as much power as sorcerers. But Morgana would change all of that, soon. Not surprisingly, Gwen shot her a disbelieving look, quirking a single brow.   
  
"At least, I hope it won't be," she amended, then took a bite of a piece of bread from her plate, chewing thoughtfully.  
  
"You have high expectations for the future," Gwen remarked, a bit uncertainly.  
  
Morgana shrugged casually, trying to affect an air of nonchalance, but smiled lightly. She decided this line of conversation might lead down an undesirable path, and opted to shift things in a different direction. "Has anything happened with Arthur since I've been gone?"  
  
Gwen's eyes widened comically, as though it were the last thing she'd been expecting, and she shook her head as a light flush came over her, clearly embarrassed by the question.  
  
Her expression became distant as she bit thoughtfully on her thumb nail, clearly considering how to answer. "I'm not really sure, to be honest," she finally said.  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Morgana, brows furrowing in confusion.  
  
"Well, he hugged me after he returned from fighting the dragon. We speak often. He's kissed me a couple of times on the cheek since then, but I find it hard to read him," Gwen said, her entire attention now focussed on the nail she held up in front of her face. "Sometimes I think that he's interested, and then at others I don't know what to make of him. It's almost as if he's distracted by something -- or maybe even _someone_ \-- else."   
  
Morgana frowned. "Don't be silly! He'd be lucky to have you, and he's a fool if he thinks otherwise."  
  
Gwen shrugged in a way that neither confirmed nor denied the sentiment. "As I say, I just don't know. Most of the time he seems interested, but then there are moments..." she trailed off, letting the silence speak for itself.  
  
Morgana tutted disapprovingly and made a mental note to speak to Arthur at some point about his behaviour in regards to Gwen. It was completely unacceptable, in Morgana's eyes.   
  
"And what of Lancelot?" Morgana asked, hoping this line of questioning would lead to a more cheerful discussion. Unfortunately she'd been incorrect in that assumption.  
  
Gwen's smile fell from her face momentarily, a glimmer of disappointment flashing in her eyes before she met her mistress' gaze. Morgana immediately regretted asking the question. Perhaps something dreadful had happened to him in her absence, though she assumed that Morgause would've informed her of Lancelot's return to Camelot.  
  
"Nothing," Gwen responded after several long moments, resting her chin on an outstretched palm, gaze focussed on a spot over Morgana's shoulder. "I haven't heard anything from him since he rescued me from Hengist's henchmen."   
  
There was no mistaking the disappointment in her voice, slumped posture merely confirming the fact.  
  
Morgana reached across the table and squeezed Gwen's free hand, curling her fingers into the centre of her palm reassuringly. She waited to speak until she'd regained the woman's attention once more. "I'm sorry. I know you truly cared for him. But perhaps he will still return?"  
  
Gwen smiled, giving Morgana's fingers an affectionate squeeze back, but the light didn't fully reach her eyes. "Perhaps," she said, eventually, though the tone lacked conviction or hope. Then, "I should probably tidy up now. Thank you for breakfast." And in the process of standing, it was clear to both that the conversation had effectively ended on that note.  
  
Gwen fluttered about the bed, pulling at the linen expertly until there were no creases at all to be seen. "Well, it looks like it'll be a fine day for a walk?" she said hopefully, all traces of her prior mood completely vanquished.   
  
Morgana smiled, grateful. She knew Gwen worried about her and had been trying to get her to leave the confines of the castle in hopes that it would leaven her spirits; even her brief stroll through the castle halls in the days prior had excited Gwen's approval considerably. In all honesty, Morgana did quite miss spending time with her maidservant as she'd had before -- sharing stories and gossip, walking arm in arm through Camelot's lush greenery, laughing like children; but there was no space in the plans for Gwen. At least, not yet. Once things slotted into place, Morgana would have all the time in the world for her; she'd make sure of it. Gwen would be well taken care of when everything changed.   
  
"Perhaps," Morgana said, in solemn enough tones that the word resounded in the negative.   
  
"Well, you know," said Gwen, sidling up to the window, "today is the first day of the trade fair."  
  
"Has it come again already? I've been away so long..." Morgana said distractedly. She shook her head as if to scatter unwanted thoughts, and turned a smile on Gwen. "Why don't you take the day off; go and enjoy the fair?"  
  
"Oh, no, I didn't mean --"  
  
Morgana placed a gentle hand on her arm. "I know, but you've been working so hard these past few days; you deserve a little time to yourself," she said.  
  
"We could visit the fair together?"   
  
"I'm afraid I don't feel quite up to it today. But," Morgana said with a smile, squeezing her hand, "I want you to go and have a good time. That's an order."   
  
True to form, Gwen tried her best to coax Morgana out of her room, but she knew when to push and when to step back, and with Morgana doing her best impression of a stone wall, Gwen eventually resigned herself to attending the fair alone and leaving Morgana to brood.   


* * *

  
  
By mid-afternoon the sun finally condescended to do its job properly, beaming like a maniac in overcompensation for its poor performance earlier. Much to the knights' consternation, however, the fog not only remained, but turned into a blinding white wall thanks to the day's new brightness. The company plodded along at the pace of an infirm snail, with Arthur and Merlin leading the pack, squinting horribly the whole way, while, behind them, the sporadic sound of horseshoe on stone contributed a gentle counterpoint to the knights' muttered frustrations.  
  
Occasionally, Merlin did his best to call up tiny gales from his fingertips to dispel the mist just long enough for Arthur to catch a glimpse of where they were going, but he dared not do much more than that. He had been so careless with his magic so many times in the past, it seemed near a miracle that Arthur, sharper than he usually liked to let on, hadn't already arranged for Merlin to be eaten by wild dogs.   
  
And it was for that reason that Merlin remained steadfast in his silence now, despite the creeping thought clearing space in his mind for a more comfortable, lengthy stay. There was something _off_ about this whole journey that couldn't be ascribed solely to bad luck, from the forest's eldritch tone to their repeatedly losing their way, to the voices in the fog just a shred beyond the edge of hearing.   
  
The thought unpacked its luggage.  
  
It was Morgana. It had to be. What magical ability she possessed or had honed in her time away Merlin couldn't be sure, but she was the one who'd shown them the map, pinpointed their target location, directed Arthur's focus off the main roads and onto lesser-used paths, all with nary a word of explanation. In the chaos of her sudden return and Uther's thirst for swift vengeance, no one had thought to question her or how she had come by her knowledge of an unfamiliar landscape. Everyone had accepted Morgana's word for what it was. And why shouldn't they? She was Uther's ward, beloved; she was royalty.   
  
And Merlin -- well, he was only someone who'd tried to kill her.  
  
He swallowed heavily, trying to blink away the recollection of Morgana clawing at her throat, of desperate accusation in the eyes that had once laughed with him, of her slender frame wracked in death throes. The visions had plagued him endlessly, even with Gaius' assurances that he had done right by Camelot and saved thousands of lives. And just when he'd been starting to believe it, here was Morgana to torment him again, in the flesh.   
  
Merlin almost wished everything was out in the open; at least he'd know where he stood, even if that meant standing on top of a pyre. But he had secrets piled upon secrets and no doubt so had she. It made her dangerous; she was as unpredictable as lightning and Merlin had no idea where she meant to strike.  
  
"Duck," said Arthur.   
  
Merlin smacked his face into a low branch.   
  
"Was that the sound of you not listening to me?" came Arthur's plaintive voice out of the heavy mist, followed soon after by Arthur himself, crowding into Merlin. "You're bleeding."  
  
"What?" Merlin said, and pressed fingers to his forehead, which came away damp. "Ow."  
  
"Well, don't _prod_ at it; you'll make it worse," Arthur admonished, and disappeared towards his horse again after calling the knights to a temporary halt.   
  
Merlin poked at his wound some more. The gash didn't seem particularly grievous, and apart from the initial sting of running into a devious bit of tree, the pain was only slight and would ebb in due time. He wiped his fingers on the side of his trousers; they really needn't have stopped at all.   
  
The sound of ripping cloth tore into his ears. "No," he said in the direction Arthur had gone last, stretching the word to its limits. "I'm _fine_. Why do you keep -- I just mended that."  
  
"So mend it again," said Arthur, breezing back into view with a waterskin and a strip of what used to be a perfectly good saddle blanket. He splashed a bit of water onto the cloth and dabbed Merlin's forehead with it, eyeing him carefully while he cleaned the wound.   
  
"It's really nothing," Merlin said, feeling the skin at his neck grow uncomfortably warm.   
  
"We just need to make sure there aren't splinters lodged in there that could cause infection, that's all," Arthur murmured. "Your brain's already muddled enough as it is; I shudder to think what would happen if it were compromised further. Well, it looks all right."  
  
"I tried to tell you."  
  
"Does it hurt much?" Arthur asked without giving him a chance to respond, and spread all five fingers, holding them up in front of Merlin. "What's this?"  
  
"That's your hand in my face," he said, and received a light cuff on one ear.  
  
"Not concussed, then," said Arthur.   
  
"I've had a lot of practice taking blows to the head," Merlin said pointedly.   
  
Arthur grinned. "Let's move on," he called out, picking up both his and Merlin's horses' reins again.   
  
Merlin's lips pricked into a smile. The fog was a menace, there was no doubt about that, but it felt as though he and Arthur were swathed in a little world of their own, and a tiny part of Merlin wished it could just stay that way. With Arthur, Merlin felt anchored while the rest of the world cracked and swayed beneath his feet. Arthur was a steady, consistent presence; he'd never have to worry about what Arthur would say or do, because even with his occasional bluster and conceit he'd always been the same underneath, and would always be, until --   
  
The smile distilled, leaving nothing but unease.   
  
Until he discovered Merlin had been lying to him for years. Until he found out what Merlin had done to Morgana. Until everything fell apart.   
  
Merlin trudged on, with dread clinging to him like a shadow. Once they returned to Camelot -- and whatever traps the forest had set for them, Merlin would make sure Arthur at least returned home safely -- he would lose everything. He could already see Morgana pointing a damning finger at him, smell the crackling pyre, watch Arthur's heart turn to stone. Merlin breathed in a gasp and choked on it.   
  
In a sudden fit of defiance and certain suicide, Merlin sent a burst of wind tumbling through the fog, daring it to linger in the face of his power. It fled. The verdure it left behind was startling, and the ordinary sounds of the forest, of birds twittering in the trees and ground animals flitting across the undergrowth, seemed far too loud after almost an entire day of being muzzled by the haze.   
  
Arthur blinked at his surroundings. "Stroke of luck," he said slowly, the tail of his words just barely rising into a question.   
  
"Yeah, must be," said Merlin quickly, looking around and noticing a suspicious lack of knights. "Where's everyone gone?"  
  
Arthur turned in all directions, as though expecting a sea of red cloaks to crest over the horizon any minute. "Must've lost them along the way in that bloody fog. I thought they'd been awfully quiet for about the last hour." He frowned, and kicked at a pile of dead leaves.   
  
"It's not your fault," Merlin said, knowing Arthur was upset with himself for having misplaced an entire contingent of knights. "And you've trained them well; I'm sure they can look after themselves. They'll be all right."  
  
"We're probably about a day out from where we need to get to, if we haven't gone off course," Arthur said, at length. "I don't know what's ahead."  
  
The wistful tone that left Arthur's voice almost as soon as it had entered made Merlin's insides clench, a reverberation that shivered all the way down to the soles of his feet. They had wildly different views sometimes, he and Arthur, but in this, he understood Arthur completely. Every morning Arthur woke up with duty riding his shoulders; every time he rode out under Uther's orders or entered the tiltyard or picked up a gauntlet to preserve Camelot's honour, death stared him in the face and he wasn't allowed to look away.   
  
And now, with expectations to bring in Morgana's captors -- and sorcerers, no less -- while his entire team had gone missing, the palpable apprehension in Arthur's face was no great surprise. Arthur would see it through to the end, no doubt, because that was just how he operated, even if the end was his.   
  
"Well, you've still got me," Merlin said bracingly, laying the groundwork for one of Arthur's favoured, flippant remarks about idiot servants if only to temporarily distract him.   
  
Arthur considered him for a long moment. "Yeah, I have."   
  
He turned away, surveying the landscape, and then idly picked around in the moss and fallen leaves for dry wood. Merlin stared after him, itchy with the feeling that he'd just missed something significant and now it was too late to call the moment back.   
  
A bit of twig bounced off his arm. "The firewood's not going to collect itself, Merlin," said Arthur, and chucked another piece at him for good measure.


	4. Chapter 4

Three days had passed already, since Arthur and his knights set forth from Camelot. Which also meant that time was irrevocably dissipating for Morgana, if she hoped to further her standing with Uther and cover all the ground that she was meant to. They'd dined together at least once a day since she'd returned home, and Uther made a point of stopping in every evening to ensure that there was nothing else she desired for the night and, she suspected, to confirm with his own eyes that she remained exactly where he believed she should be. But while things had gone well thus far, Morgana also recognised that she would probably need some time on her own with Uther. Everything was relatively peaceful in Camelot at the moment, which worked in Morgana's favour. It meant that there would be few distractions, fewer things that had the potential to pull Uther away, and a greater likelihood of success.  
  
Morgana put on one of her better dresses that morning and sent one of the guards to request an invitation to dine with Uther at noon. Naturally, he'd accepted.  
  
"I was thinking today," Morgana began, just as their meal was nearly finished, "that I'd like to get outside and enjoy the fresh air again. I've been holed up in the castle for close to three days now and I could use a taste of the outdoors again."  
  
Uther's head shot up, eyes alight with something resembling approval. "I agree. I've no doubt that a stroll in town would do you a world of good," he said with a confident nod. "I'll arrange to have a guard accompany you."  
  
Morgana threw together her most petrified stare and cast it in Uther's general direction, staring at a crack in the wall just past his head. "Oh, no, I'm not quite ready for that just yet," she insisted, hands shaking ever so slightly for added effect. Morgana hadn't left the castle since first arriving home, and she knew Uther was well aware of that fact, as he'd expressed some concern for her well-being in this regard over the last couple of days. Truthfully, she had no issues whatsoever with actually setting foot outside of the castle walls, but that wasn't what she wanted Uther to think. "I was thinking something more along the lines of going for a walk through the castle gardens, seeing as how the sun has been shining all morning."  
  
As anticipated, Uther's gaze fell to her hands, and Morgana moved to place them on her lap, out of view, as though she were embarrassed by their inadvertent shaking. "I'm sure it will be just what you need. Perhaps you'd like to take your maidservant with you?"  
  
"Actually, I gave Gwen the afternoon off," Morgana shared, biting her lip in what she hoped came across as a sheepish gesture. "Gaius needed a bit of extra help, with Merlin gone." She attempted to keep her tone neutral, in spite of the rolling bitterness brought forth by the mere mention of her former friend's name. "And I know that Gwen has assisted him in the past, so I offered her services to Gaius for the afternoon." Truly it had been a stroke of pure luck on Morgana's part, but she was not about to complain about fate working in her favour, for once. This had provided her with just the opportunity she needed, and Morgana intended to make the most of it.  
  
"I was actually hoping, my lord..." Morgana hesitated, dropped her gaze down to her dress as she trailed off, eyes fixating on a tiny crumb of bread resting casually on her lap. She was pleased when Uther took the bait.  
  
"You were hoping...?"  
  
She took a steadying breath, flicked the crumb from her lap, pasted on an expectant smile, before raising her chin and purposefully seeking Uther's gaze. "Well, I was hoping that perhaps you might be interested in joining me for a short stroll. It's lovely outside, from what I hear. And we still have so much lost time to make up for."  
  
Uther's mouth fell open slightly, and it was clear to see that he hadn't been expecting her to suggest that particular option. He recovered quickly, however, masking his surprise with an amiable smile instead. "I suppose a walk outside would be quite refreshing. I haven't been out to the gardens in ages."  
  
Morgana grinned at him, positively delighted.  


* * *

  
  
Night fell rather quickly, it seemed, following their decision to stop and regroup before heading out again the next morning. They were still a good day's ride from the spot that Morgana had escaped from, assuming their map was even accurate. Arthur wanted to believe that Morgana's information was sound, but given the strain she was under upon arriving at the castle, and the time it would have taken her to travel by foot back to Camelot, he had his doubts as to her ability to validly retrace her steps. Uther, however, was of another mind entirely. Blinded by his affection for Morgana -- one that he'd carried for her as long as she'd been a member of the Pendragon household, as far as Arthur could recall -- Uther had been insistent on following this lead.  
  
"It appears as though we'll have another day of riding before we reach our destination," Arthur shared with Merlin, who was busy laying out the bedrolls for the night. "Which means we should probably head out at first light tomorrow."  
  
Merlin grunted in a truly undignified manner, but otherwise paid Arthur no heed.  
  
"You tired?" Arthur wondered, after a few silent moments.  
  
Merlin angled his head around, staring at Arthur through the dancing flames of the fire between them, eyes momentarily taking on a golden hue, and shrugged. "Not really," he responded, voice weak and somewhat weary. "You?"  
  
It was an obvious lie -- sagging shoulders, dark circles under the eyes, and a series of barely stifled yawns among the varying indicators to pick from -- but Arthur was surprisingly okay with that knowledge. He'd wanted to feel more distress at having been separated from the rest of his knights, every once in a while tossing an apprehensive look back over his shoulder, just in case. But the wave of red never arrived, and he finally gave up any hope of finding them; at least not any time in the near future.  
  
He supposed there were worse fates than being saddled with Merlin all evening, though. He could be extraordinarily annoying and far too insolent for his own good, but considering how downtrodden Merlin seemed of late, there was a part of Arthur that preferred to keep the man in his sights, just in case. Besides, however loath Arthur was to admit it, Merlin was one of the only people with whom he could simply be himself, and that filled him with an odd sense of comfort, especially given the reason they were out there in the first place.  
  
"Men of my calibre of physical and mental prowess never tire," Arthur announced haughtily, and stabbed at the fire with a large stick he'd found, simply because he could, and because the sparks tended to make Merlin uneasy when his back was turned.  
  
"You are an arrogant prat," Merlin declared, the telltale signs of an eye roll evident even through the dim light of the flames. But the chuckle that rolled off his tongue was like a good mead -- both sweet and satisfying -- and just a tiny bit of the heaviness that sat in the pit of Arthur's stomach lifted at the sound.  
  
Feigning nonchalance, Arthur shot Merlin an amused smirk. "You'd get bored if I changed," he stated plainly, hoping his manservant caught the throwback to a conversation that was far too old to justify remembrance. A thought flittered vaguely through Arthur's mind, silently inquiring as to when, exactly, he'd started memorising every conversation he'd ever had with Merlin, but he pushed it away roughly as being completely irrelevant at the moment.  
  
Merlin stared incredulously at Arthur as he finally strode back around to the other side of the fire, bouncing lightly on his feet as he padded over to the log Arthur currently occupied. Taking a seat beside the prince, Merlin leaned towards him, hovering close to Arthur's face.  
  
"You, Arthur Pendragon," he began, voice carefully schooled as he pointed a finger at Arthur's chest, "will _never_ be boring, even if you tried."  
  
Arthur cocked a brow, taken slightly aback by the unexpected comment, but felt the corners of his lips tug up all the same. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"  
  
Merlin shrugged noncommittally. "Well, you keep things interesting, I'll give you that."  
  
"But that doesn't really answer my question," Arthur pressed, absently tossing a few twigs into the fire, and watched as they crackled and shrivelled under the heat of the flames.  
  
Merlin shifted, knocking his knee playfully against Arthur's, and accorded him an easy smile. "I'll let you decide that one for yourself," he said, and Arthur knew without even asking that he wouldn't get any more clarification beyond that.  
  
Oddly enough, Arthur felt quite sure it'd been intended as a compliment, though he was willing to concede that this belief was as much based on wishful thinking as it was on the actual interpretation of Merlin's words. Arthur inexplicably felt heat spread through him at the comment, starting in his belly and rising up to settle comfortably across his neck and cheeks, and he cursed the tiny voice at the back of his mind that insisted his current state couldn't be entirely blamed on the warmth of the fire.   
  
"Yes, well, I choose to take it in the _obviously_ complimentary manner in which it was intended," Arthur said, as soon as he found the ability to form words once again, and attempted a half-smile. Standing, he moved deliberately to the other side of the fire, suddenly feeling an urgent push to put some distance between himself and Merlin. He turned away, eyes squeezing shut, hands fisting loosely at his sides, as he forced his mind to settle.   
  
The crackle and fizz of the flames behind his back shifted, as though the wood had been stirred or another log added to the burning pile, and Arthur craned his head around in time to glimpse Merlin throwing a few more pieces of wood to the fire.  
  
"We should get to sleep," Arthur announced a moment later, turning back to face Merlin. "Early morning tomorrow." And as if to emphasize his point, Arthur sank to the ground, tugging his boots from his feet elaborately.  
  
Merlin watched him, expression carefully guarded now and nothing like he'd been only minutes prior, nodding wordlessly before finally following suit.  


*

  
  
Arthur awoke in the middle of the night, the cold seeping through the blankets and fabric of his clothing, frost pricking painfully at his skin. He shivered involuntarily and pried a single eye open to survey the scene.  
  
At first he thought he was imagining things, but when he forced the other eye open, Arthur could see as plain as day that Merlin was sitting in front of the sputtering fire, stoking it and mumbling something to himself.  
  
"What are you doing?" Arthur rasped, teeth chattering.  
  
Merlin started, practically jumping out of his skin, as wide, frightened eyes settled on Arthur's face.  
  
"The fire went out. I was trying to get it started up again," he replied evenly, though there was a hint of anxiety present in his voice. It caught Arthur's attention, teeming with significance, but in his sleep-addled state, he lost the threads of it almost at once.  
  
"You're going to freeze to death," Arthur said matter-of-factly, curling tightly into himself and tugging the blanket up to his nose, as if to prove the point. He wondered idly if Merlin was as ready to pass out from the cold as he seemed to be.  
  
Merlin snorted. "And going back to lie down on the cold ground with no heat source will certainly help prevent that from happening."  
  
"Well, just hurry up then," Arthur instructed tightly. "I don't particularly feel like dragging your dead arse around for the rest of this trip."  
  
Merlin's mumbled response floated through the air, though Arthur couldn't make any of it out; which was probably for the best anyway. Arthur yanked the blanket up over his head, screwing his eyes shut and desperately forcing thoughts of dying a slow and painful death alone with Merlin from his mind.  
  
After what felt like an inordinately long period of time (and was likely no more than two or three minutes at most), he heard Merlin emit a satisfied grunt. Chancing a peek, Arthur pulled the blanket down off his face to witness their fire, blazing strongly as though it'd never died down in the first place. How Merlin had done it, Arthur had no idea, but he was quite sure he'd never before seen someone stoke a fire into burning that hotly in such a short period of time.  
  
Without another word, Merlin settled back down on his bedroll, wrapping the blanket tightly around his thin frame. Arthur closed his eyes too, with every intention of going back to sleep. The problem, however, was that in spite of having a roaring fire once more, Arthur was still genuinely chilled to the bone. He lay there, shivering almost uncontrollably, curling into himself even more as he fought off the chills and inched as close to the flames as he deemed safe.  
  
"Merlin?" Arthur called out softly, several minutes later, already regretting what he was about to do but knowing that he had no other choice.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Get over here."  
  
A pause. "What?"  
  
"I'm cold," Arthur offered as way of explanation.  
  
"But I got the fire going again." He sounded distant; sleepy.  
  
"Yes, but I'm still cold."  
  
The silence was longer this time, and Arthur briefly wondered if he'd managed to fall asleep, when Merlin's typically defiant voice wafted softly towards him. "Why can't you move over here instead?"  
  
In spite of the cold, and Arthur's current level of diminished cognitive functioning, he still couldn't quite bite back the smile that wanted to form on his lips. "Because last I checked -- _you_ were the servant and _I_ the prince. Unless you'd like to travel back to Camelot yourself and explain how you let the future king die in the middle of a freezing forest?"   
  
Several seconds of grumbling and protesting followed, but, somewhat surprisingly, Merlin complied with the request, clumsily dragging his bedroll and blankets across the forest floor. At Arthur's insistence, Merlin situated himself between the fire and Arthur, tiredly lying back down on the ground and proceeding to grouse about Arthur being a _'royal prat'_ before quieting down.  
  
Arthur closed his eyes, listening to the fire crackle gently and the rise and fall of Merlin's breath next to him, and felt a deep warmth suffuse his skin inside and out. Contentment lingered a while, before being swept away with the rest of his consciousness as sleep settled over him for the night.  


* * *

  
  
In distinct contrast to the rekindled, easy familiarity Morgana had managed to spark during her afternoon walk with Uther, the evening meal had been another largely silent affair; it was difficult to persist in her advances when there were guards hovering behind them and servants constantly coming and going to refill their goblets and clear plates. If she wanted to make an impression, and quickly, clearly she had to get him alone.   
  
Morgana paced the length of her room until she heard outside her doors the night guard relieving Sir Leon of his watch, and waited, counting footsteps and stairs and paths long seared into half a lifetime's worth of memories. When she was reasonably sure that Leon had gone, far from the scene, she pulled open the door and instructed the guard to escort her to see Uther, feeling just the slightest twinge of something that felt extraordinarily close to guilty relief. It seemed indecent, somehow, and unkind, involving Leon in any small way in her manipulation of the king, as though if she could manage to keep him out of the way, he might escape the taint of Uther's Camelot.   
  
She shook her head at herself, let a breath of mirthless laughter past her lips. Now was really not the time to crusade for the purity of one small knight; she had much bigger plans to pursue.  
  
Uther would still be up at this time, probably in his throne room going over maps and disputes and requests from all over the kingdom. Whatever he was, Uther did take his duties seriously, and, with strict orders not to be disturbed, could often be found working through the early hours of the morning. Which made it all the better if she could distract him from his responsibilities and undermine his efficacy as king. Perhaps no one would even miss him once she was through with him.   
  
She rapped her knuckles smartly on the door and let herself into the throne room without leave, though Uther seemed pleased to see her.   
  
"My lord," she said, bowing her head slightly, largely acclimatised by now to her role and able to affect deference without having to bite down a sneer at the same time. "I wondered if you'd mind having some company this evening?"  
  
He glanced at the piles of parchment and ledgers in front of him, and said somewhat regretfully, "Yes, well, I'm afraid I'm rather occupied with work at the moment."  
  
Morgana forged ahead. "Is there anything I can help with?" she asked, coming to sit next to him.   
  
Uther's eyebrows rose, and he chuckled, a sound so warm and rare she smiled in spite of herself. "Surely there must be other pleasures to attend to than spending the evening with an old man and his grain ledgers."  
  
"Nonsense, my lord," she said, leaning toward him, and her fingers brushed his arm, just the gentlest of touches, "you're as young and spry as the day I met you."  
  
He turned to her, the lines around his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Now you're just mocking me."  
  
"I wouldn't dare," Morgana said, indulgent. She drew her chair next to his, armrests slotting alongside each other neatly like a perfect join, and squeezed his hand, letting the touch linger for a moment longer than strictly necessary. "Let me help."  
  
Uther looked at her curiously, as if wondering where this sudden bounty of agreeableness had come from.   
  
"It must be so tiring," she added for good measure, "working like this every night on your own. Lonely." The word drifted in the air, and Morgana averted her gaze, like she'd accidentally revealed something secret about herself.  
  
"Well, what do you think of that, then?" he asked, sliding the paper in front of him towards her; whether it was to humour her or because she had said something that struck a nerve somewhere wasn't immediately apparent, but that he was willing to let her stay was a small victory in itself.   
  
Morgana had never taken a deep interest in the running of a kingdom before, condemned as she had been to leisurely pursuits like embroidery by dint of her sex and usually preferring, clandestinely, activities that required heavy weaponry. The complexities revealed to her now of governing vast tracts of land and nameless, faceless populations struck her as far more taxing than a day's worth of swordplay (or pretending to enjoy needlework, for that matter). Though he had several lords serving him to oversee the daily business of every town and village that fell under Camelot's wide reach, Uther still maintained knowledge and involvement of every tax levied and every skirmish waged, and Morgana couldn't help the admiration, however grudging, that welled up inside her.   
  
That Camelot had not only remained free from extended conflict longer than she could remember, but also managed to flourish in relative prosperity was a testament to Uther's rule. If it wasn't for his hard stance against sorcery, she might even be tempted to think of him as a good king.   
  
Morgana shifted uncomfortably in her seat and hardened her thoughts. If she expected to effect any change at all, she couldn't afford to let herself be swayed like this; to even imagine merits in Uther's reign was absurd. She was better than that and stronger.   
  
She pushed her chair back. "I think," she said, before her thoughts could run away from her, "I will retire to my chambers now, my lord, and leave you in peace."  
  
Uther rose, extending an arm, and walked her to the entrance of the throne room. "Well, I very much appreciate your assistance this evening."  
  
Morgana laughed quietly. "I thank you for saying so, my lord, but I'm afraid I was rather more a burden than a help."  
  
His eyes flickered with sudden warmth, like embers springing to life. "My dear girl," he said, touching her cheek lightly, "you could never be a burden to me."   
  
A smile formed on her lips before she could even remember to force it, and it froze there, as it dawned on her how quickly and how easily she had almost fallen into old patterns once again, granting forgiveness for all his sins and cruelty in exchange for a mere smile. Her fist clenched at her side, fingernails pressing into her palm, reminding herself that it was affectation; the kindness in his face was no reflection of what resided in his heart.   
  
With a slight bow, she excused herself from the room, and fled, the ghost of his touch burning like ice.  
  
She hated him, she told herself, over and over and over until she believed it again.   


* * *

  
  
_Pleasure soared through his body, filling him so fully and completely that he felt he might come apart at any moment.  
  
Sweat glistened on his forehead, neck and back, heart pounding wildly in his chest as he shut off all other senses, savouring the feel and taste of Merlin on him, and in him.  
  
He thrust up once, twice, three times, into the hand that stroked him, and finally found his release, his moans and cries muffled only by the hot mouth enveloping his._  
  
Arthur's eyes fluttered open to the sound of the horses, stomping their feet and neighing restlessly, as though impatient to get on with their day. Sunlight streamed through the tree branches, casting a soft, early-morning glow over the area, and Arthur briefly watched the leaves hanging above his face, dancing to the rhythm of a gentle breeze. He felt, for some inexplicable reason, utter contentment wash over him in that moment. Tossing the thought aside as being irrelevant, Arthur allowed his eyes to drift shut once more, arms instinctively tightening around the warm body curled into his side.  
  
He froze. Warm body. Curled into his side. Head resting on Arthur's chest. Even without prying open his eyes once more, it didn't take a genius to figure out that Merlin was the only person who could possibly be occupying the entire right half of his body, using his chest as a pillow. Which lent itself to his brain asking the most important questions of how... and why?  
  
_Arthur awoke to the feeling of Merlin shifting beside him, the blanket of night still wrapped firmly around them, dim glow of burning embers flickering just past the back of Merlin's head.  
  
Even with the absence of any significant light source, Arthur could see Merlin shivering beneath his blankets, a few feet away. It seemed a little excessive a response, though Arthur was willing to acquiesce that it was still cold, even with the burn of flames attempting to keep them warm. There was a fragile quality to Merlin's shivering that provoked a protective instinct in Arthur, and while his normal reaction would be to roll over and go back to sleep, he couldn't ignore Merlin's cold form mere feet from him.  
  
Arthur hesitated for a second or two, weighing the potential consequences of this decision, before inching forward and sidling up to Merlin, reaching an arm around his body and pulling his manservant flush against his chest. Merlin let out a gasp of surprise, but to Arthur's immense relief, he didn't try to pull away, and in fact seemed to even lean back into the embrace. Arthur shifted slightly, moving so their bodies were practically touching from shoulder to toe, and he was amazed at how well they fit together, as if they were always meant to be like this. Tucking his head, Arthur's lips ghosted lightly across the back of Merlin's neck, and Arthur felt him shiver, though he doubted it had anything to do with the cold. Sleep descended upon them once more, and Arthur drifted off with one hand splayed across Merlin's stomach, warmth seeping into every pore of his body._  
  
A hot flush crept up Arthur’s neck and worked its way to the tip of his ears, ridiculous in its intensity. There was little reason for such a reaction at all; this wouldn't have been the first time they'd relied on body heat to get through a cold night, and if there was a little part of Arthur that knew he was telling himself a lie, it was squashed down quickly. However before he could eradicate it altogether, another vision, through the haze of distant dreams, came floating back to him.  
  
_"Clothes. Off. Now," Arthur mumbled headily, hands fumbling clumsily with the drawstrings of Merlin's trousers as he sought the heat of Merlin's mouth again.  
  
Merlin groaned into his mouth, rocking hips forward into Arthur, fingers clawing desperately at his back.  
  
As one, they moved together, shedding tunics, trousers, socks, until nothing remained between them but the cool air of night. And Arthur moaned, low and deep in his throat, as Merlin reached between them (_finally, finally, finally... _) and capturing his mouth once more in a rough, wet kiss._  
  
Arthur suddenly felt very warm, almost as if he were aflame, and he could feel heat pooling in his belly and advancing south to his groin as more images flooded his mind, images of hands and teeth and tongues and... Arthur bit back a groan, cock twitching, and for the first time since waking, it suddenly dawned on him that he was aroused, almost painfully so, and probably had been since first opening his eyes.  
  
Merlin grunted -- Arthur could feel the vibrations as much as he heard it -- and shifted slightly, burying his face even further into Arthur’s chest. Arthur silently thanked the gods that Merlin remained sound asleep; he wasn’t quite sure what he would do if Merlin awoke at this very second, how he would explain his erection. But then Arthur felt something hard press into his thigh, and he nearly cringed when realisation hit. Merlin, too, was completely aroused. This was awkward. Utterly embarrassing, even. What was worse, a series of graphic images kept flashing in Arthur’s mind of the things he and Merlin had done in his dreams, and he actually had to fight the urge to hook a leg over Merlin’s hips and rut up against him, longing for just the briefest brush of their hardened cocks.  
  
Panic began to well up in Arthur, and he swallowed thickly, urging the images to vacate his mind as quickly as possible, while at the same time fighting to slow his suddenly quickened breaths. He blinked up at the leaves, waving carelessly in front of his eyes, and willed frayed nerves to get back under control. There had been numerous situations in the past where Arthur had been put in a compromising position, and he’d been able to deal with those situations without batting an eye. Surely he could handle this as well.  
  
His one consolation at the moment was the fact that they were both fully clothed, which could only mean that nothing had actually happened between them. Which was an immense relief, especially considering the fact that Arthur didn’t actually _want_ anything to happen anyway. Of course, he also couldn't be entirely sure that everything he'd dreamed of had merely been a dream, and suddenly Arthur desperately needed to get away -- from Merlin and from this place and especially from the barrage of images that still continued to assault his mind.  
  
The problem, however, was that Merlin was still sprawled on top of him, nothing more than a dead weight, and after several failed attempts to extricate himself without drawing Merlin's attention, Arthur gave up. It was no use, and Arthur could only resign himself to the fact that without waking Merlin, escape would be impossible.   
  
With a frustrated sigh, Arthur poked Merlin's shoulder, fighting back another flush. "Wake up!"  
  
He barely moved. Arthur felt his annoyance grow. "Come on, Merlin, get up and get off me," he instructed, reaching out to shake him lightly.  
  
Something resembling a grunt escaped past Merlin's lips then, and his head rose slightly off Arthur's chest, stilling in mid-air. It took a few moments of Merlin staring down at Arthur before reality seemed to sink in, and when wide eyes turned to glance reluctantly up at him, face flushed crimson, Merlin's expression held a quality of embarrassment, with a tinge of fear. Arthur might've even laughed, had the situation been different and not involving him, but as it was, all he could do was stare blankly back at Merlin, his own face mirroring the pink flush reflected back at him.  
  
"Er..." Merlin mumbled sleepily, though he was very much awake at this point, and cast his eyes away from Arthur.  
  
It was like a scene out of a nightmare, and just when Arthur thought it couldn't get any worse, it somehow did. Pushing himself up on one arm, Merlin still hovered over Arthur, and he took this opportunity to trail eyes down the length of their still intertwined bodies. Arthur, in some sick twist of masochism, watched the expression on Merlin's face, followed him through the looks of confusion, shock, realisation, and then embarrassment. Merlin's cock continued to dig into his thigh, while Arthur's pressed up through his breeches, still standing obviously and pointedly at attention. There was no doubt as to when Merlin noticed their shared arousal, and it was in that very instant that Arthur wished beyond words that the ground would open up beneath him and take him away from this humiliating experience.  
  
Merlin's gaze sought Arthur's once more, and then he completely froze, bewilderment, panic and terror flashing across his face in equal measure as he stared down as his unintended bed partner. Meanwhile, Merlin's dick was mere inches from Arthur's, and Arthur didn't think that his willpower would last for much longer, at this rate.  
  
"Merlin, _move_ ," Arthur finally commanded, grabbing hold of his arm and shoving Merlin off entirely, sitting up abruptly. Merlin tumbled to the side, and Arthur immediately felt a twinge of guilt at the force he'd used. It'd been unnecessary, but he needed to get away. Now.  
  
"Arthur, what...?" Merlin cried, rubbing the back of his head with a deep frown. "Wait!"  
  
But Arthur ignored him, already stalking away from the camp, desperate to put some distance between a horny and angry Merlin, and Arthur's own obvious arousal. He could not deal with any of this right now.  
  
When he was far enough away, Arthur stopped and closed his eyes, leaning back against the rough bark of a large oak tree, and once again attempted to still his racing thoughts. He was so hard, knew he needed to take care of his current predicament, but there was a large part of him that wished this would all go away and he could pretend none of it had ever happened. But the more he thought about it, the more his mind inevitably drifted back to Merlin, and his arousal only intensified. With great reluctance, Arthur untied his drawstrings and shoved his trousers down past his hips. He stared down at his cock for several moments, twitching and aching to be touched, before finally wrapping his hand around himself. With a few tentative strokes, Arthur imagined that it was another hand touching him. He tried to picture a random woman, but when that didn't seem to work, he switched the image to that of Gwen instead.  
  
That particular fantasy was successful for a few moments before the image morphed into Merlin, stroking him and whispering dirty things into Arthur's ear, and gods did it feel _amazing_ all of a sudden. But the moment the image changed, Arthur stopped stroking himself, guilt and embarrassment and shame welling up inside at what he was doing. He tried several more times to imagine the hand touching him was someone other than Merlin, but it always drifted back to him anyway. Arthur suddenly felt like crying, just a little, as he stilled his hand once more.   
  
He wasn't supposed to become aroused at the thought of Merlin touching him. Merlin’s hands touched Arthur a great deal of the time -- helping him dress, removing armour, rubbing salve into Arthur’s aching muscles. To respond to the feel of Merlin’s hands on him in that way... it could create a world of trouble. Arthur shook his head. No, it wasn’t even just that. He was willing to concede that it was possible that Merlin was his closest friend, likely the best he’d ever had. But he couldn’t destroy that, _wouldn’t_ allow himself to potentially lose Merlin over something like this. Arthur wasn't supposed to have sexual fantasies about Merlin in dreams, and he certainly wasn't supposed to react even more strongly when awake. And yet, here he was, stiff cock in hand, and the only images running through his mind were those of Merlin -- mouth trailing hot kisses down his neck, lean fingers stroking his length, Merlin's own erection pressing into Arthur's thigh.  
  
Finally Arthur started moving his hand again, quick and rough against his sensitive cock, so aroused it was becoming painful. And if his thoughts wandered back to Merlin, imagining his gorgeous mouth sucking Arthur off, if his climax nearly blinded him with a white-hot pleasure that he hadn't experienced in a very long time, Arthur chose not to think about it, ignoring the gut-wrenching shame and fear that instantly flooded his consciousness, because he most certainly was _not_ sexually attracted to Merlin.  
  
Arthur allowed himself a few moments for his breathing to slow and the remorse to diminish, then began cleaning himself off, a heaviness in his heart as he tried to figure out what he was going to do now.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun burned radiantly in the late afternoon, casting its light through the protection of the thick forest engulfing them, sky a rich blue save for the occasional dots of white, puffy clouds wisping across the sky. A light breeze whispered past them, kissing Merlin's cheeks and neck soothingly, touched pink from the unexpected warmth of the day. The forest abounded with life and activity around them all morning, leaves swaying in the wind, birds passing through, hooves padding against the rock and dirt. It was the first tolerable day they'd had since setting off from Camelot on this mission, but Merlin found it next to impossible to actually enjoy any of it.  
  
To say that things had grown awkward between Merlin and Arthur after what'd happened that morning would be an understatement. In fact, awkward had long since packed its bags and fled the scene, making room for the arrival of its cousin, unbearable tension. Silence stretched on for miles, hanging heavy in the air with the weight of an implication neither was quite ready to acknowledge, let alone process. This morning's affairs had left both feeling uncomfortable and slightly on edge, the hows, whens and whys of the situation abandoned in favour of carrying on as if nothing had happened at all. Which, really, when Merlin thought about it (and he absolutely, positively had _not_ ), was true -- nothing had technically happened between them. Unless one counted waking to find oneself snuggled tight in the arms of another man, who just so happened to be not only a close friend but a royal prat, with the added bonus that both were painfully aroused. Then perhaps there was something more to be said of the situation. Except that Arthur, being his usual obstinate self, had simply refused to speak to Merlin for the last couple of hours unless absolutely necessary, in spite of Merlin's numerous attempts at engaging the prince in conversation.  
  
He'd finally given up the valiant fight over an hour prior, accepting that Arthur apparently needed some time to sulk or process or erase the event from his memory, whichever he deemed the most valuable course of action. Which unfortunately left Merlin to his own debilitating thought processes.  
  
The burden of decisions made in recent months hung heavily from his shoulders, weight amassing on his conscience and dragging him just a bit closer to the edge of what he could reasonably be expected to bear, each and every day that passed. For a few blessed weeks, things had finally started to look up for Merlin, as though the entire world was not his to protect, and would not bring about his end. But then fate had viciously decided that he'd had enough of a reprieve, returning Morgana to Camelot and forcing him to relive the disastrous consequences of his recent choices once again. Never mind the fact that he was still grieving for his father, in addition to carrying the burden of keeping his magic secret from those closest to him. To be confronted now with his feelings for Arthur -- feelings he had determinedly shut away once he'd learned of Arthur's affections for Gwen -- seemed like the straw that would break his back and lead to his ultimate undoing, if he let it.  
  
But the thoughts refused to vacate his mind, prodding and poking at him until, helplessly, Merlin had no choice but to allow himself a brief moment to ruminate on it. When thinking back, Merlin couldn't quite identify the exact moment he fell in love with Arthur, but he remembered the circumstances under which the discovery slunk from the hidden recesses of his mind and implanted itself firmly into his brain. It had been a rather ordinary moment, or at least as ordinary as their lives managed to be on any given day. There had been no fanfare or sudden rush that knocked him off his feet, just a small conversation that had taken place in Arthur's chambers one quiet evening, as most evenings had been since their return from victory in Ealdor, with Merlin losing himself in contemplation and tired grief. He'd done his best to hide it; however much he had loved Will, he couldn't show it for fear of Arthur's derision, knowing what he thought of sorcery -- and of _Will_ , who'd managed to be a complete and utter ass to Arthur the entire time, except for the part where he'd saved his life.  
  
But Arthur had surprised him then, as he so often did with unexpected bursts of kindness, catching him by the shoulder while he'd been busy stoking the chamber fire.  
  
_I'm sorry,_ he'd said. _About Will._  
  
Merlin didn't remember what he'd said in reply, probably some stuttered thank you or, more likely, he’d just gawped at Arthur; but he did remember the searing warmth that had flooded his chest then, realising that even in the weeks after Will's death, Arthur had kept it in his thoughts, though he had no reason to. Just as he had no reason to bring it up, or to take any interest in Merlin's life whatsoever, or to share the loss that Merlin felt.  
  
_He died an honourable death,_ he'd said. _And for that you should be proud of him._  
  
There weren't any other words to remember after this, because Merlin had had no words to say. There had been the lump in his throat that he'd swallowed and the smile that had touched his face, and there had been Arthur, stretching his limbs as he'd climbed into bed, as though he hadn't just made a world of difference at all.  
  
But that was Arthur, through and through, defying expectations so adroitly that it seemed nearly unremarkable. His Arthur.  
  
A single, solitary thought had invaded his mind then, speaking softly, with a defined assurance: _I am completely and helplessly in love with Arthur Pendragon._ It was uncomplicated -- beautiful, even -- in its lucid simplicity, and Merlin found the discovery to be distinctly less shocking and decidedly more freeing than he would have expected. He'd never deluded himself into believing that Arthur would ever return his affections, but it was clear to him, at least, that Arthur cared about him. And it was enough; or at least that was what he made himself believe. Yet he supposed he'd always held out a little hope, tiny and infinitesimal but there all the same, that Arthur might one day love Merlin with the same reckless abandon with which he loved Arthur.  
  
When Arthur had confessed his feelings for Gwen, it'd hurt, nicking his heart just enough to cut into him in a way that allowed the pain to bleed and never quite heal. But he'd plastered on an indulgent smile, moulding his features into bright approval, and encouraged Arthur in this endeavour in spite of his own heart. For her part, Gwen was a lovely, dear friend to Merlin; she was sweet and caring and just plain _good_ , and Merlin loved her fiercely, would never intentionally do anything to hurt her. And if she was what made Arthur happy, then Merlin resolved that he would never get in the way of that, regardless of his own attachment to the prince.  
  
Unfortunately, most of the time, Merlin's feelings for Arthur threatened to bubble to the surface no matter how hard he attempted to shove them into his subconscious, but this morning's events had left him flummoxed. He was not the least bit surprised at his own physical reaction to waking up wrapped tightly in Arthur's warm embrace; but what confused him was the fact that Arthur had been experiencing the same problem. There were a couple of possible explanations, but the most likely one seemed to be that he'd been dreaming about Gwen, had pulled Merlin into his arms thinking him to be her instead, and had been horrified upon waking to find not only Merlin curled up against him, but an impossibly hard Merlin lying across his chest. It was ridiculous and embarrassing, and suddenly Merlin thought that maybe it was for the best that Arthur wasn't speaking to him right now anyway. He had absolutely no way to explain away his erection and wasn't too keen on the idea of having his heart broken in addition to every other awful thing that'd happened in his life of late. Merlin inadvertently heaved out an embittered sigh, loud enough to be heard, but if Arthur noticed, he gave no outward indication.  
  
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Arthur's voice wrenched him from the mental fog he'd managed to wander into. "Merlin, watch out for that--"  
  
But it was already too late. By the time Merlin reacted to the shock of actually hearing Arthur address him directly, he'd already ridden directly into the large, low-hanging branch of a tree. The branch slammed into Merlin's chest, and it knocked him backwards. Merlin's left foot caught in the stirrup, and for a moment he foolishly thought he might be able to regain his balance once more. That was until the horse decided at that very moment to rear up, completing the task of throwing him from the saddle, and Merlin went flying backwards, landing, hard, on the trail with an undignified grunt.  
  
Before he could even process the pain, Merlin curled in on himself, writhing on the ground and gasping for the breath that had literally been knocked out of his lungs. One hand clutched desperately at his throat while the other fisted in his tunic, already feeling his face flush from the lack of air.  
  
No more than a few seconds passed before he felt strong hands grasp his shoulders firmly, hauling him upright into a sitting position and pulling forward slightly. "Come on, Merlin, _breathe_. Just slow down and take one breath in, one breath out, just like that," Arthur encouraged, fingers digging ever so slightly into his shoulder blades. Merlin felt his eyelids slip shut and he focussed all his attention on following Arthur's instructions. After a few seconds of deliberate, concentrated breathing, air finally started to travel through his lungs once more, and he greedily gulped it back, not caring how ridiculous he might look. They remained there in silence for a couple of minutes until Merlin's breathing slowed to its normal pace, and he glanced up at Arthur for the first time since falling off the horse. As expected, his eyes held a typical air of exasperation. But Merlin also detected a hint of concern, masked by irritation, and he took hope in the idea that Arthur still cared about him at least, even if he wouldn't outwardly admit it.  
  
"Are you all right?" Arthur asked finally, crouched down in front of Merlin, one hand still resting atop his shoulder.  
  
Merlin considered the question. "I think so," he said.  
  
"Good." Arthur nodded, removed his hand, and pushed himself into a standing posture. "Do you think you can stand?"  
  
Merlin rolled his shoulders, shook each leg carefully, dug into the ground with the toe of his boot, then looked up at Arthur. "Yeah, I think I can handle that."  
  
He placed a palm on the forest floor, preparing to brace himself to move into standing, when he noticed Arthur's proffered hand hovering in front of his face. Merlin stared at it in wonder.  
  
"It's called a hand, Merlin," Arthur informed him, when he didn't immediately accept it. "Usually it works best if you grab onto it. I can then pull your clumsy, incompetent arse up off the ground so we can carry on our way. Unless you'd rather I leave you here and come back for you in a couple of days?"  
  
"Prat," Merlin said, word tumbling easily past his lips, and he couldn't quite prevent the accompanying eye roll. But he reached out for Arthur's hand anyway, grasping his wrist and feeling oddly secure when Arthur's fingers curled around his forearm in response.  
  
"Idiot," Arthur retorted with a shake of the head as he yanked Merlin to his feet. However, instead of the muted indifference he'd been exposed to all morning, Arthur's attempt at a chiding tone belied the underlying affection Merlin heard in the word, and it filled him with a sense of relief. Perhaps the early morning affair wouldn't ruin the rest of their time together after all.  
  
Merlin dusted the dirt and sand from his trousers and carefully tested each leg, raising one off the ground and balancing on the other, then switched to the other side. He would be lying if he said his back and thighs weren't sore, and he rubbed absently at a particularly tender spot on his lower back, the scratchy material grating more than actually soothing the area, and he allowed his hand to drop limply back down at his side instead.  
  
"So would you care to explain how you managed to ride directly into that colossal branch that _clearly_ blocked our path? _Again_?" Arthur asked, reaching over for the reins to Merlin's horse and scratching the stallion's nose. Merlin supposed they were lucky the horse was somewhat accustomed to Merlin's antics and hadn't raced off in the opposite direction at the first opportunity. Without a shadow of a doubt, Merlin knew that he would never be able to share the same saddle as Arthur without revealing his true feelings for the man. However, knowing Arthur, he'd likely force Merlin to walk instead, and that idea was no more pleasant than the first.  
  
"Erm... would you believe that I got distracted?" Merlin offered up lamely, throwing Arthur a demure smile for good measure as he accepted his horse's reins from Arthur's outstretched arm.  
  
Arthur snorted, sounding every bit the arrogant dolt that he often chose to be, but he was also amused, and didn't even attempt to mask the fact. "When it comes to you, Merlin, I'm quite certain that I could believe just about anything."  
  
And without another word, Arthur mounted his horse -- watched to ensure that Merlin had been able to do so as well, though Merlin doubted he'd ever admit to it -- and led them onwards through the forest once more.  


* * *

  
  
_Morgause tapped the tip of her sword against the ground repeatedly, as though it weighed no more than a twig. "Again," she said._  
  
_Morgana drew in a breath, and for the third time, parroted the instructions given her to bring about Uther's downfall. It was simple, really, twining the man around her finger; she'd only have to manifest the slavish dependence always expected of women at court, and whatever contradictions arose against her usual temperament could easily be explained away by the emotional turmoil she'd experienced in captivity._  
  
_"Good," Morgause said once Morgana had finished speaking. She moved the stones weighing down each corner of the map set in front of them and gave Morgana a swift glance, rolling the map up again; the parchment crackled underneath her fingers like the sputter of a dying fire. "And you know how to deal with Arthur."_  
  
_"Yes," said Morgana, and hesitated. "You won't hurt him?"_  
  
_"I have no quarrel with Arthur. He just needs to be distracted, that's all, if you're to succeed."_  
  
_"Will you give me your word?"_  
  
_Morgause nodded, humming her wordless affirmation, and resumed tapping her sword on the ground, the rough rhythm of metal on dirt like distant drumbeats of war._  


*

  
  
Morgana stood at her window, her gaze settling upon the steady stream of activity in the courtyard -- guards making their rounds, merchants hauling in their daily deliveries, scullions haggling over the freshness of the wares. How quickly they'd all had to forget that the ground they trod had been stained countless times with the blood of their neighbours, the ash of their friends. Uther had transmuted his fear into hatred and turned his prejudice into a coward's game, making death a public spectacle at his own front doors to keep the masses endlessly afraid. Once upon a time she, too, had believed Uther was the law, never to be crossed, but now she knew better. She would free them all.  
  
Time, however, wasn't entirely on her side. There was only so long Arthur could be expected to stay away from Camelot, and though she had made good progress with Uther, the days were going by quickly and she still had much to put in place before Arthur came back. Morgana had carried out the plans as perfectly as she could, luring him out of the castle with stories of her captors' whereabouts, but Arthur's journey would be nothing but a wild goose chase; he and his retinue would find no trace of Morgause, or anyone else, for that matter, just day after day of earth and tree and sky. Eventually he'd have to return, with failure trailing at his feet, but he'd return, nonetheless; that much, at least, she'd made Morgause promise.  
  
Perhaps she and Arthur had grown apart of late -- Morgana couldn't remember the last time they'd had a meaningful conversation, but even so, she loved Arthur as if he was her blood and she would see no harm come to him. One day he would make a great king; she just had to pave the way for him first. And one day he would understand why.  
  
Morgana trailed a sigh into the morning air, and steeled herself for the work ahead. There was less joy than she'd imagined in making Uther dance to her beat; the satisfaction, when it came, lasted only a brief while and then settled like dead weight in the pit of her stomach. And already she was beginning to tire of pitching up excuse after excuse to insinuate herself into his company -- not least because he still seemed to hold some sway over her, the child in her who could still see warmth and softness behind his eyes, infallibility in his character. He was dangerous in ways she'd not expected, and she would have to be doubly so.  
  
Self-confinement grated like a rasp on her skin, and Morgana threw her doors open, all intentions to find some distraction _somewhere_ in the castle that could occupy her thoughts, at least for this little while, before she had to set herself to impinge on Uther's good graces again.  
  
Sir Leon stood to attention, in the same spot she'd left him the night before when she'd retired to bed.  
  
Her mouth instantly curved into a smile at the sight of him. "Don't you ever sleep?" she laughed.  
  
His stance relaxed a little, and he returned her expression. "I'm only doing my duty, my -- Morgana."  
  
She couldn't help but laugh lightly into the back of her hand at the way his eyes widened when the unintended implication of his words caught up to him. "Beautiful day, don't you think?" she said, saving him from a sputter of apologies, and he grinned at her. "Come, walk with me."  
  
They wended their way to the castle gardens, stepping lightly over the soft turf. For his part, Leon was a solid but silent companion, and though it could easily be ascribed to his inferior position within the castle and not speaking until spoken to, she still appreciated the fact that he was just letting her be. There were no obsequious questions about how she was feeling or what had happened or if she needed anything, and indeed they were wholly unnecessary; the strength of his presence alone was enough to tell her that his care and consideration extended beyond that of mere duty. Where other guards saw a job to be done, Leon saw _her_. Under different circumstances, perhaps they might have been friends.  
  
Morgana trailed the tips of her fingers alongside a hedge, riffling little leaves awake and scattering their careful collection of morning dew. Leon smiled down at her, kindly, and she wondered if it might not be too late after all.  
  
“I used to love this garden. I would come here with my father, when we used to visit Camelot, and then later, when he joined Uther’s knights,” she heard herself saying, completely unexpectedly, a short while later.  
  
“Is that so?” Leon was still smiling, eyes gleaming, as he watched her pluck a deep pink peony from the ground, fingering its soft petals.  
  
“Yes. One of the first times we visited the castle, I managed to sneak away from my father’s watchful eye and somehow found myself out here. I was only three or four, and I remember thinking it was the most beautiful place on earth.” Her voice was soft, reflective, holding a reverent quality as she recalled the childhood memory. “I played for hours here, and it never once occurred to me that my father might be wondering where I was.”  
  
“What happened?” Leon queried, genuine interest resounding in his tone, and Morgana tossed a smile in his direction.  
  
Warmth filled her soul, and she chuckled pre-emptively at the rest of the story, remembering the anger and fear, but also love, that’d resonated from her father that day. “He found me some time later, wide-eyed and panicked, though of course I was too young to fully appreciate why he appeared so upset.” Leon laughed knowingly, the sound sweet and rich in her ears. “He began to scold me, telling me I shouldn’t have run off, what on earth was I thinking, and did I know whose garden I’d been traipsing through?”  
  
A single brow arced high on Leon’s forehead. “He really used the word ‘traipsing’ with a four year old?”  
  
Morgana felt the laughter ripple through her body as it poured from her mouth, and she shook her head, eyeing Leon thoughtfully. “It’s possible that I may be adding an element of elegance to my father's vocabulary, but believe me when I say that it’s better this way.”  
  
They navigated through a lovely patch of multi-coloured irises followed by rows of marigolds, finding themselves at the centre of the garden. Morgana instinctively stopped in front of the lone bench facing the garden’s only white roses, idly rolling the stem of the peony between her fingers. Leon stepped up at her side, one hand planted on his hip as he surveyed the other half of the garden.  
  
“So...” Leon said after a while, letting the word hang in the air between them with an element of curiosity. He was requesting that she finish her story, in his own unobtrusive way, and Morgana felt something like affection well up in her chest for a moment. It only confirmed her earlier conviction that this was more than a mere assignment for him. Morgana was uncertain as to why she’d begun speaking at all, sharing an almost sacred memory from her childhood with a veritable stranger, but in this moment, in the here and now, something about it felt right.  
  
Morgana sat on the bench and waited until Leon followed suit. “My father continued to yell at me, informing me that he’d been utterly terrified, had enlisted half the guards of Camelot to search for my whereabouts, and what would’ve happened if I’d been injured or lost, or worse -- if someone had taken me? Finally, he finished speaking and asked me if I had anything to say.”  
  
She paused, could feel Leon’s eyes on the side of her face, listening intently to every word she spoke, and Morgana tried to remember the last time anyone had shown genuine interest in what she had to say, save for Gwen, and sometimes Arthur. It was, admittedly, a refreshing change of pace.  
  
“Did you? Have anything to say, I mean?” Leon asked, with an almost child-like eagerness.  
  
She laughed, the memory continuing to float through her mind as she mentally replayed the scene. Morgana shifted in her seat, turning so she was facing Leon. She had every intention of watching his face for his reaction this time around. “I did. I told him, ‘Daddy, I picked these for you’, and held out a bouquet of flowers I’d taken from the garden. I think there was one of every colour flower that was found in the garden that day.” The grin spread, unbidden, tugging at the corners of her lips. “I can only imagine the horror he must have felt upon seeing that his daughter had defaced the royal gardens. But all he did was smile at me, deep and full, and scooped me up in his arms, telling me he loved me.”  
  
Leon gazed over at her, smiling broadly, and the expression on his face radiated something resembling amusement, maybe even a hint of affection, and Morgana felt a flutter of emotions dance through her for a few moments. The only thing she knew with any certainty at the moment was that she felt happy, and that sharing this story with Leon hadn’t been a mistake.  
  
“How could a father resist something like that?” Leon said with a warm laugh.  
  
“Naturally, he couldn’t. From that point on, every time we were both in the castle, we would walk together through the gardens,” she concluded, fondly. It’d been a simpler time then, a happier time, and for the briefest of moments, Morgana closed her eyes and pretended that she was that innocent little four-year-old girl once more, filled with hope and enthusiasm for a world that wasn’t tainted, wasn’t darkened by death and grief and guilt and pain. But like all dreams, eventually people had to wake from the fantasy and deal with the reality that faced them each and every day, no matter how much they longed for the dream once again.  
  
The sun was warm, its rays beaming down on them, and Morgana longed to stay in the sun, with the flowers and her present company all day long. However, the tiny voice at the back of Morgana’s mind that sounded suspiciously like Morgause reminded her that time was precious, and would halt for no one. It was with this rather unfortunate thought tumbling around in her mind that Morgana made to stand, indicating her intent to return to the castle once more. She'd intended to ask Uther to accompany her on a walk into town, and while Leon was far more enjoyable company, she could not put off her intentions with Uther any longer. Leon followed obediently behind with something like reluctance in his step.  
  
“He used to pick me flowers,” she added, almost as an afterthought as they wound their way back towards the entrance. “Even though it obviously wasn’t permitted. He picked all kinds for me, but he brought me my favourite most often.”  
  
There was a pause, and then, “Which are?”  
  
Morgana froze mid-step, casting a sidelong glance in Leon’s direction. Suddenly a world of opportunities seemed to lend itself to Morgana, and she was tempted to have a little fun with him. If she simply told Leon the answer, it would be over and done with, but that didn’t feel very entertaining, and in a time when there was little she was able to find joy in, she liked the idea. She held no delusions as to where her focus lay, but did that mean she had to remain dedicated to it one hundred percent of the time? In the end, she settled on, “It’s no fun if I _tell_ you.”  
  
Leon raised a brow, chuckling, but didn't say anything, and as they neared the castle, Morgana glanced at his gentle profile, the sun on his face. He was her reprieve from the shackles of Uther's overbearing worry, and it didn't escape her notice that the one man sent to guard her night and day, as he would a prisoner, was the only one who made her feel truly free. They walked in silence towards the throne room, Morgana hardening herself with every step that brought her closer to Uther and her plans for him.  
  
When they reached it, Morgana laid her hand on the door, preparing to ingratiate herself into Uther's company, but something made her stop short. She turned to Leon. "Thank you," she said suddenly. It came as a surprise as much to her as to Leon, and his eyes widened in question.  
  
"For what?"  
  
She shook her head at herself. "It's -- nothing. For allowing me to witter on at you like an old lady, I suppose," she said.  
  
Leon smiled. "Any time."  
  
Morgana nodded at him, sealing his smile in her memory, and pushed open the doors, ready to face her self-imposed destiny.  


* * *

  
  
Arthur reined his horse to a halt, wondering, not for the first time, if Morgana's directions had been any good at all. The large clearing from which she'd said she’d escaped was void of any human touches; dead, brittle leaves rasped at one another in the breeze, cold and dry. Pulling his horse alongside, Merlin surveyed the area, apprehension resolving itself across his face. Arthur could imagine the expression mirrored in his own countenance; there was something about this particular place that felt distinctly wrong.  
  
It was too quiet. The trees were unnaturally sparse here, a staggered ring around a rocky outcrop from which they all seemed to be slowly backing away. High overhead, a V of birds stole across the sky without a sound.  
  
Following Arthur's lead, Merlin dismounted, and seemed to regret it almost as soon as his feet hit the ground. "There's nothing here. We should go back," he said, nerves on edge, like he was the one in charge.  
  
Inclined as he was to agree, Arthur strode forwards instead, sword at the ready. They'd already come this far, through one of the more disastrous reconnaissance trips in recent memory -- he still didn't know where his knights were, to say nothing of the _incident_ with Merlin; the least they could do at this point was to make sure all was as it seemed. Besides, regardless of whether Morgana had been in the right frame of mind during her escape attempt or not, Arthur felt he owed it to her to follow through with this. She was his family, and he'd be damned if he'd let the people who'd hurt her get away with it scot-free.  
  
"Come on, Merlin," he said, in his best authoritative voice, and wound his way round the outcrop, one hand dragging lightly along its crags for balance as he stepped with care over desiccated skeletons of fallen trees. Fine dust skated off where his fingers grazed past several large grooves in the rock, worn smooth like ancient whetstones.  
  
He felt rather than saw Merlin radiating a frown into his back, but Arthur carried on, secure in the knowledge that Merlin would follow, never mind that every footfall crunched with disapproval.  
  
A low, wide mouth of a cave yawned into view, its depths offering nothing but a cool, crisp darkness.  
  
Merlin caught up shortly, coming to stand by Arthur's side as they contemplated the gloomy recesses. "Look, I really don't think --" he said, and shut up at Arthur's terse hand signal.  
  
"Do you hear that?"  
  
The sound, quiet but mildly abrasive, wound its way out of the cave, the fluttered scrape of a hundred pages being turned at once.  
  
"They could be in there," Arthur added, though it was more for the sake of exhausting all possibilities than for any real belief that the sorcerers who'd taken Morgana were still hiding out in the exact same spot from which she'd fled, if this was even the correct place to begin with.  
  
Merlin stared at him, equal parts baleful and incredulous. "Personally, I'm more inclined to believe that a murderous beast lives here. Please let's not find out."  
  
"Where's your sense of adventure, Merlin?" Arthur asked, clapping him on the shoulder.  
  
The look edged over into a glare. "Must've left it at home; let's go and fetch it, shall we?"  
  
"I don't know why I let you come on these trips with me," Arthur said.  
  
Merlin picked up a large branch off the ground, frayed and splintered at one end from whatever had caused it to dislocate from the tree. He hefted its weight in one hand, swung it experimentally, exuding about as much menace as a child. Still, if he was looking for potential weapons, it meant that he was at least coming round to the idea of searching the cave.  
  
"As I recall," said Merlin, the makeshift club hanging loosely at his side, "it wasn't so much _my_ idea to come along as -- _Arthur!_ "  
  
Arthur hit the ground before he was even aware that his feet had left it, a blur of sand and streaks whirling across his vision, and down the length of his torso, what he imagined fortified castle gates must feel upon making the intimate acquaintance of a battering ram. He sucked in a mouthful of air, trying to get breath back into his lungs; he could almost see the imprint of his own body in the soil from the speed and force with which he'd been barrelled down. He struggled to his feet, dimly aware, first, of Merlin shouting at him, and then of his fist clenched around the hilt of his sword.  
  
A great yellow eye stared at him from above, unblinking. Arthur stumbled backwards until he bumped up against a smooth wall, peppered in a variegated diamond pattern, his hands finding little purchase against its satiny surface. His head was still swimming slightly, and it took a few seconds for the panorama to resolve itself into anything remotely within the realm of comprehension. The eye swooped upwards, revealing its partner; a ridged brow arching over angry black pupils gave it a distinct air of infuriation, but rather more concerning were the two spikes that spired out of its head, perfect impressions of which were probably already forming on Arthur's chest in black and blue.  
  
When he'd finished gaping, Arthur registered the unmistakeable sound of a long, loud hiss.  
  
"Merlin?" he called out calmly over the wall, even as he tightened his grip on his sword. "If I've cracked my head open and am currently hallucinating a giant snake with horns, now would be an excellent time to tell me."  
  
"No, no, it's very real," Merlin called back, and hurled a stone in its direction.  
  
"Oh, good; I thought I might be going crazy. This is so much better," Arthur said dryly, and twirled his sword out of habit; the deep familiarity with which he wielded his weapon sometimes unnerved human opponents, and while it had yet to work on other sentient beings, he could still hope. In any case, it might serve as a minor distraction while he tried to get the measure of his adversary, which, if he had to hazard a guess, ranged somewhere between a hundred-and-fifty feet and bloody massive.  
  
"Yes, well, I hate to say I told you so, but I _did_ bring up the possibility of a murderous beast, didn't I?" Merlin said.  
  
Another large stone sailed through the air, bouncing off the serpent's armour with barely a graze to be seen. He might as well have been throwing feathers at it for all the good he was doing, as the snake seemed far less concerned about Merlin's projectiles than with quietly teasing Arthur with the prospect of a painful death, coiling a wide, slow ring around him so he could make no escape.  
  
"This is hardly the time to be arguing semantics, Merlin," said Arthur, and would have given him a pointed look, were it not for the barrier of skin and scales between them that stood almost as high as Arthur was tall.  
  
Apparently tired of waiting around until Arthur and Merlin stopped talking, the snake reared suddenly, and bore down on Arthur, eyes alight with fire and fangs dripping with the promise of pain. Arthur tucked and rolled out of reach, bringing his sword high in an arc; it crashed into the snake's body, shuddering at the contact.  
  
Arthur struck again, to little avail; the entire length of the snake was covered in thick scales, as strong and resistant as the best armour money could buy -- he could spend all day swinging at it and make no difference, never mind that it was attached to a very angry head that sported venomous fangs within and horns without. His chest still throbbed fiercely from the first blow, and a new ache unfurled inside him as the thought occurred to him that this might very well be the day he died. The yellow eyes gleamed at him.  
  
From outside the ring, Merlin continued his assault, throwing anything he could get his hands on and shouting incendiary things at the snake to sway its attention from Arthur, as if it could even understand that Merlin was impugning its mother. A stray rock slammed into its eye, a trail of blood bubbling out, and the snake blundered backwards for a moment, before regrouping to focus its now compromised sight on Merlin. He stood his ground, though whether out of fear or misdirected bravery, Arthur couldn't be sure.  
  
"Merlin! _Run!_ " he yelled, and slashed at the snake repeatedly. There was still enough hope for Merlin to survive this, and he would do everything in his power to make sure it happened; if he fell, at least he'd go down knowing Merlin was all right. "For god's sake, Merlin, get out of here!"  
  
"Can't," Merlin replied shortly, which was the same as _Won't_ , spearing a branch through the air and waving his arms about wildly to redirect the snake's attack away from Arthur and onto himself.  
  
He got his wish. With one terrible, powerful swipe of its tail, the snake sent Merlin flying, and Arthur could only watch, heartsick, as Merlin's body struck a tree trunk and slumped bonelessly to the ground. Repeated cries of his name did nothing to rouse him, and white rage boiled inside Arthur's gut, overspreading his skin in waves of heat and fury.  
  
Arthur redoubled his efforts, drawing a thin trace of blood this time, even knowing all the while in the back of his mind that it was no use. In time, his energy would flag and he'd be spent and drained long before he could even get a clean strike in underneath all those scales, and then it would all be over.  
  
A hiss of agreement rolled off the snake's tongue. It thrust its head towards Arthur, one fang catching in his mail and knocking him to the ground. Taking advantage of its proximity, Arthur plunged his sword into its bad eye and twisted. The snake heaved upward, frenzied in its shock and agony, mouth wide open in a soundless scream.  
  
_For Merlin_ , he thought. That much, at least.  
  
The snake began to uncoil around Arthur, the sound of hundreds of scales striking each other in motion amplified in the wide silence of the clearing.  
  
Now with an unobstructed view, Arthur could see Merlin in full, lying on his side at the base of a tree with his arms at awkward angles, face slack. Arthur's stomach gave an unexpected lurch at the sight, but he couldn't think about that now, couldn't contemplate what it meant; _not dead, not dead, not dead_ he said to himself.  
  
Merlin stirred.  
  
The rasping stopped, and Arthur pulled himself together just in time to leap out of the way as the snake sheered past, its head flat and horns poised like spears. It shifted abruptly after missing its mark, barrelling at Arthur again from the other direction, screaming its anger through the frazzled rustle of the undergrowth. Arthur, too slow to make a full escape this time, received the brunt of the blow on his left arm, and the force of it spun him into the ground, sword jarred loose from his grip.  
  
Flat on his back, with pain burning down the length of his arm, Arthur scrabbled for his sword as the snake advanced, the line of its mouth curved like a smile. He glanced around desperately to see where his weapon had fallen, and the glint of its hilt just out of reach caught his eye at the same time that Merlin rose onto a shaky elbow, extending a hand towards him.  
  
As though given an extra push, Arthur's fingers inched towards the sword, closing around the hilt just as the snake stormed forward, its jaws stretched open as if it intended to swallow the whole world and Arthur along with it. With a burst of strength Arthur didn't know he had left in him, he rolled to his feet and thrust the sword through the roof of the snake's mouth and wrenched backwards, razoring the length of the snake's head in half. Blood and venom dripped from the ceiling of its mouth, its entire body frozen mid-rush for a split second, before it swayed and collapsed, clouds of leaves and twigs and dust pillowing and piling around it.  
  
Arthur tumbled to his knees; stuck in his throat was a knot that wasn't sure whether it wanted to come out as a laugh or a cry. Steps away, Merlin let his hand fall, and Arthur blinked at him, a curious feeling rising inside.  
  
Struggling to his feet, Merlin hobbled forward. "You did it," he said.  
  
Arthur glanced at the monster's corpse, and then at Merlin, and said nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

_"Just give me time," Morgana pleaded.  
  
Morgause's mouth screwed into a slight frown. "We could have Camelot bent to our will with a snap of our fingers," she said, almost wistfully.   
  
"If we take Camelot with magic it'll only fuel his hatred; he'll go to his end thinking he was right about sorcery all along. But just _think _," she said, clutching Morgause's arm fervently, "of how much more satisfying it would be to see the look on his face when he hands us the keys to his kingdom, knowing he only has his own weakness and stupidity to blame."  
  
A hum of appreciation shivered past Morgause's lips at the thought of bringing Uther to his knees by the cleverness of deception alone. "Temptress," she said pertly.  
  
Morgana smiled. "That's the plan." _  


*

  
  
Morgana was furious. She was already operating on borrowed time as it was, and now _this_ , of all the pointless, ridiculous interferences that could have cropped up. There was a part of her that was just as angry with herself as she was with the situation, helpless as she was to do anything about it, likely because she hadn't the foresight to come up with contingency plans for impromptu Northumbrian state visits.   
  
She paced the same length of floor her feet had been following for the past day and a half, her hands gripped tightly behind her back to fight off the urge of hitting something.   
  
The trouble had begun two days prior with the arrival of King Pellinore and his retinue from Northumbria; the sojourn had only been scheduled after her return to Camelot, it seemed, and if Morgause had caught wind of it she hadn't bothered to let Morgana know. Even after asking around for more information, Morgana wasn't entirely sure of the exact nature of the king's business with Uther. All Leon could tell her was that part of the reason for Pellinore's presence had to do with a standard review of the clauses of Northumbria and Camelot's peace treaty, and part was purely social. It'd always come as somewhat of a surprise to Morgana that Uther actually had friends, especially given how numerous and vast his enemies were. Yet, Pellinore and Uther had developed a camaraderie many years ago when the two nations had allied in a war against Mercia, and to this day, their friendship remained strong. Morgana, herself, had no personal quarrel with the visiting king, simply wished he would go away and leave her to the task of watching over Uther.  
  
The plan had been progressing at a stunted rate as it was; for every two steps forward, Morgana felt as though she were moving one step back. Now to have the past day and a half completely wasted, in which Uther had been wholly preoccupied by hunting excursions and entertaining his esteemed guest, she knew that things were not looking promising. In the first day of Pellinore's stay, Morgana had barely managed to snag more than five minutes of Uther's time, unattended, and today she'd yet to even encounter an opportunity to speak with him. With little room for error or delay, she could not afford such extravagances as letting Uther out of her sights for the week Pellinore intended to stay.   
  
Morgana let out an irritated sigh. It was her own fault, she knew, rushing into this, forming a less than sturdy plan around an emotional reflex. The heady feelings of imagined triumph, of exacting revenge, seemed so distant now. Morgause had been right -- they could have taken Camelot by now if they’d used magic, but Morgana didn't want Camelot, she wanted Uther to be _sorry_.  
  
Soft knocking at her chamber doors halted the pacing momentarily, and she turned towards the door. "Come in," she called out.  
  
The door eased open, and Gwen stuck her head in. "Good afternoon, my lady," she said with a smile, coming forward, a tray balanced neatly on one arm. "I've brought you some lunch.  
  
"Thank you, Gwen," Morgana said, flicking her eyes over the food. "But I'm afraid that I'm not very hungry at the moment."  
  
Concern etched its way into Gwen's features, lips pulling downward. She was across the room in a few quick strides. "You haven't been eating well for the past two days. Is something troubling you?"  
  
"No, I'm fine."   
  
It was an easy answer, though not easily given. Gwen had always been her confidante, a solid rock she could rely on whenever worries crossed her mind. But she knew she couldn't breathe a word of this to her maidservant; Gwen wouldn't see it the same way she did, compassionate as she was, and the last thing Morgana wanted to do was fracture the last genuine relationship she still had.   
  
"I haven't been sleeping all that well, and my mind has been distracted. Food hasn't remained at the forefront of my priorities, I suppose, but I assure you that I'm eating enough to keep up my strength," Morgana said. It wasn't an outright lie, after all.   
  
Gwen's frown deepened, eyes assessing but exuding warmth. "Have you been having nightmares again, Morgana?"  
  
She shook her head. "Everything is all right, Gwen, honestly. I promise I'll eat something later on this afternoon, if it would please you." Morgana accorded Gwen a light smile, though it didn't reach her eyes, and she wondered if Gwen was astute enough to notice.  
  
"If you say so, my lady," Gwen said, after a moment's hesitation, though it was clear from her tone that she didn't quite believe Morgana's words. Still, it was the best Morgana could hope for at present.  
  
Silence settled over the room, as Gwen went about her business of tidying up and Morgana rooted herself against one wall so her incessant pacing wouldn't get in the way. As far as she had been made aware, Uther was out hunting with Pellinore and would not be back until late afternoon. A feast was planned for the evening, in celebration of Camelot and Northumbria's renewed peace treaty. As the king's ward and a member of the royal household, she would be seated at his left, as was customary, and if all went well, it would afford Morgana some time with Uther, even if she would have to share it with their guests. In the meantime, however, there was little available for Morgana to do to occupy her time, save for pacing and sulking, neither of which was a particularly enjoyable way of passing the time. What Morgana needed, what she would welcome, was a distraction, something to occupy her mind and her time while she was forced to wait for Uther's return.  
  
"Gwen," she said. "Help me decide what to wear for the feast tonight?"  
  
Gwen smiled and nodded at the request, temporarily putting aside discarded books to fish through Morgana's wardrobe. She pulled out a handful of dresses, laying them on the bed for scrutiny. "The green quite suits you," she suggested, smoothing a hand over a wrinkle in the fabric.   
  
Morgana tilted her head in consideration. "No..." she said, her eyes roaming over the selection. Lighting on a deep purple dress, she lifted it up and held it in front of her, pinning its waist to hers as she surveyed herself in front of the mirror. Its cut was a bit more daring than her usual fare, and certainly not for everyday wear. Thoughtfully, she fingered the tiny jewels sewn into its neckline.   
  
"Who are you hoping to impress tonight?" Gwen joked, coming to stand next to her.   
  
"Uther's always liked me in this one," Morgana murmured, mostly to herself.   
  
Gwen's reflection flushed a deep shade of red, and she turned from the mirror hastily.   
  
"What's the matter?" Morgana asked, flinging the dress back onto the bed.   
  
"Nothing. It's nothing," said Gwen, who could never lie to save her life. She was a byword for honesty, and try as she might to prevent it, her emotions always splayed themselves nakedly across her face.   
  
Morgana touched her arm lightly. "Gwen, you can tell me anything."  
  
"No, no, it's really--"   
  
" _Gwen_ ," she said, a little more sternly.   
  
"It's just something I heard in passing," Gwen said, a desperate tone creeping into her voice. "Just -- stupid gossip. Got into my head for a moment, that's all. It's not worth repeating."   
  
Morgana's eyes narrowed assessingly. "Is it about me?" When Gwen didn't answer, she added, "There's obviously something you don't want me to know, but you might as well just spill it, as I'm going to find out sooner or later anyway. God knows the kitchen staff couldn't keep their mouths shut even if they tried."  
  
Gwen hesitated, but acquiesced in the end, her face pained. "There's just been a bit of talk -- _nonsense_ , you understand -- about questionable relations between you and... well--"   
  
Nervous anticipation churned in Morgana's stomach.   
  
"Ah... you and the king," Gwen finished, and took a minute step backwards, cringing, as though afraid she might have gone too far.   
  
"Me and Uther?" Morgana repeated, carefully sidestepping the accusation. "Why would they say there's something going on between us?"  
  
She knew exactly why; after all, it had been what she'd been hoping for all along, for people to start talking, to start wondering if she had become something more than just Uther's ward. It was already well-known throughout the land that he adored her, and it didn't take much of a leap to turn that fact into speculation as to just how deep that love ran.   
  
There was a long pause from Gwen, hands knotting behind her back almost nervously. "You've been dining with him alone an awful lot since your return."  
  
"That's not so unusual," Morgana pointed out, and it wasn't. They'd often eaten meals together in the past, without Arthur, though the increasing strain in their relationship prior to her departure from Camelot had lessened the frequency considerably.  
  
"Right, of course."  
  
"Is there more?" Morgana encouraged, trying to play down her eagerness and sound more concerned about her reputation instead. In any other circumstance, she couldn't have cared less what the servants were saying about her -- life in the castle was often dull and if they needed salacious gossip to pass the time, then so be it -- but in this case, she wanted to hear everything. Nothing untoward had happened between her and Uther, but if people were already talking then it must mean she was doing something right. Perhaps the situation wasn't as dire as she'd previously thought, and Pellinore's visit not as ruinous a setback.   
  
Gwen bit her lip, her gaze fixed on the floor. "They also say you two have been seen strolling through the castle grounds and town, looking far less than king and ward, and far more like, well..." She paused.  
  
Morgana planted both hands on her hips, brows crinkling. "Far more like what, Gwen?"  
  
There was nothing for a long time, and then, "Witnesses attest to you acting as though you were, um, more like lovers." She nearly choked on the last word, still refusing to meet Morgana's gaze.  
  
"Lovers? _Really_?" There was a split second of accomplishment in knowing that her efforts hadn't gone entirely to waste, but it was quickly overshadowed by a burgeoning worry. The revelation was helpful, and it was, of course, precisely what she _wanted_ people to believe, but at the same time, Morgana knew she hadn't done nearly enough to warrant quite such an extreme reaction just yet. Besides, the only one who truly needed convincing was Uther, and Morgana had barely had time to bat her eyelashes at him in the past couple of days, let alone make any sort of proper advances. Ultimately, all the gossip in the world would not help further her cause if Uther wasn't falling for her, plain and simple.  
  
It was a good start, but if she wanted to wear Camelot's crown, she would have to work a lot harder. The thought, which should have motivated her, only served to nurse the growing ache in the pit of her stomach. Morgana stamped it down hard.   
  
Gwen, who had resumed tidying the room, remained quiet. That she wasn't saying anything now was revealing of her own thoughts on the subject, and suddenly, Morgana found that she didn't want Gwen to believe she had feelings for Uther, even when every action she would take in the future would certainly indicate the contrary.  
  
"It's no matter," she said breezily. "Let them talk. I can guarantee you I have no romantic interest in Uther."  
  
"Of course not," Gwen said, without hesitation, shooting a small smile at Morgana.  
  
And if there was doubt in her maidservant's tone, Morgana chose to ignore it. After a moment's consideration, she picked up the purple dress from her bed and hung it across the top of her dressing screen, carefully avoiding Gwen's gaze.  


* * *

  
  
Persuading Arthur, after their brief contretemps with a creature that had clearly been one of the gods' attempts at showing off, to return to Camelot hadn't been too difficult, for which Merlin was quietly thankful; it was obvious that whoever had captured Morgana -- and he used the word 'captured' _lightly_ \-- hadn't stuck around to enjoy being hunted down by Camelot's finest. He didn't have anything more useful than a gut feeling, but Merlin knew that he and Arthur were only wasting time in the wilderness, alternately braving the capriciousness of the elements and narrowly escaping a dalliance with a giant serpent's intestinal mechanisms, with no results to show for all their efforts except masses of hideous contusions.   
  
They were turned back now in the direction from which they'd come, but it was slow going, taking into account the fact that their progress had to be hampered from being sore and stiff and nursing a multitude of injuries for which Merlin could only do so much, in secret, late at night by the light of blinking embers, when Arthur's contributions to the conversation were limited to occasional snores that he'd later swear were not emitted by the likes of royalty.   
  
That Arthur was swearing at all in the first place was encouraging, after the long, hard look he'd given Merlin just after the beast had fallen, a look as though he _knew_. Sheer necessity had driven Merlin to blasting his magic right in front of Arthur, and he'd been almost sure that Arthur had seen -- and given the opportunity to make the choice again, Merlin knew he'd do the same, every time -- but it didn't seem to have made any lasting impression on Arthur, who'd wrenched the look away after a while and had then wondered out loud if sawing off the snake's horns to bring home as trophies might result in pestilence raining down upon Camelot's general populace.   
  
With his neck safely out of the equation, Merlin had suggested that they forgo the sawing and save their energies instead for a homeward journey. And as much as Arthur loathed the prospect of reporting failure to his father, particularly when the stakes were this high, he'd agreed. Given the lack of knights and Arthur's injuries, even if they did manage to find Morgana's captors, he and Merlin wouldn't have been able to do much more than shout some threatening last words.   
  
The forest was clear now, warm and bright, offering an accompaniment of sweet birdsong as they wended their way along familiar trails. In spite of the fact that they were headed back to the castle, where Morgana would most certainly find a way to exact painful revenge on him, Merlin shoved all such thoughts aside as best he could and tried to enjoy the sun on his neck and Arthur riding at his side. It might be the last time, after all, he thought. At least he'd get to spend it with Arthur. He smiled wanly into his chest.   
  
"Merlin," said Arthur suddenly.   
  
Merlin's heart leapt a little, for no other reason than how lovely his name sounded rolling off Arthur's tongue. "Yeah?"  
  
"You reek."  
  
"What?"  
  
Arthur pulled his horse into a slow walk. "Here we are in a wide, open space, and I should be filling my lungs with all this nice, fresh air, but all I get is you, and you smell something awful."  
  
Merlin wrinkled his nose. "You aren't exactly a bouquet of roses yourself, you know."  
  
"Nonsense. I'm a prince, Merlin; I smell of rainbows," said Arthur blithely. Before it could be pointed out in how many ways he was wrong, he added, looking up at the sky, "We'll be coming upon a lake in a bit; should be warm enough for a quick bathe, I think."  
  
Before long, the sunlit glint of water shimmered into view, and Arthur let out a pleased murmur. Dismounting, Arthur tethered his horse and held out his hand for Merlin's reins. With some difficulty, Merlin grimaced as he inched himself out of the saddle; with the adrenaline of the fight now all ebbed away and his muscles having gotten over the shock of sudden, intense exertion, they now pitched up a chorus of complaints at any hint of movement.   
  
"Any time before nightfall, Merlin," Arthur said, eyeing Merlin's limited progress with slight impatience.   
  
"Bit sore," Merlin mumbled, when both feet finally touched ground.   
  
Arthur gestured for him to assist with removing his armour. "If anyone's got a right to be sore, it's me," he said, and muttered a few culturally insensitive remarks about the whole of the reptilian kingdom. With his armour and mail stacked carefully at the foot of a tree, Arthur removed the rest of his clothing and inspected the bruises down his front. "This salve of Gaius's I brought along seems to be working wonders, though. Healing faster than usual," he said, glancing up at Merlin.   
  
For his part, Merlin could only manage a brief nod of his head, which was largely involuntary, given that his eyeballs were torn between lapping up the sight of Arthur stripping and looking very, very far away, and only ended up fighting to run in diametrically opposite directions. Turning around, he clamped his eyes shut and pretended to busy himself with patting his horse, which didn't have quite the same enterprising effect as when he pretended to busy himself with moving messes around in Arthur's chambers during bath time.   
  
"Watch our things, Merlin. I'll be quick," said Arthur from somewhere behind him.   
  
As Arthur pattered away, Merlin eased his eyes open and heard Arthur wading into the lake. He gave up on rubbing his horse's nose, which it seemed to appreciate, and turned back around. In the near distance, he could see Arthur sitting happily in the lake, his hair struck bright gold in the afternoon light, skin gleaming with water. Merlin gave the other horse an industrious pat.   
  
True to his word, Arthur returned in short order, looking refreshed, and Merlin couldn't decide whether or not to be disappointed that he'd had the foresight to bring along a sheet with him to the edge of the lake to dry off, which now hung wrapped around his hips. Merlin helped him get dressed again because it was his job; his fingers skated across Arthur's cool, damp skin because he couldn't quite help himself.   
  
"Right, well," said Arthur, the tips of his hair wet and clinging to his neck. "Your turn."  
  
"Er," said Merlin, fingers curling around the edges of his tunic, and indicated that Arthur should turn around.   
  
He rolled his eyes, massively, and made a huffy noise, but turned his back anyway. "You really are _such_ a girl, Merlin," he complained.   
  
The insult wasn't anything new, or given with any real malice, so Merlin ignored it and concentrated on getting his muscles to work, raising his arms slowly to bring his shirt over his head. His torso tautened with a dull pain, though this was manageable, but only because the ache that ran down the length of his back was worse; given that he and Arthur hadn't stopped for much else other than to eat and sleep since they'd left the snake to rot, Merlin hadn't had a chance to really inspect his own injuries, and he grimaced now at the purple spot emblazoned across his chest.   
  
Arthur sucked in a sharp breath. " _Merlin_ ," he said, having forgone the customary waiting period to turn back around, and looked aghast at the extent of Merlin's bruising. "Why didn't you tell me it was this bad? Is anything broken?"  
  
"Er, no, I don't think so," said Merlin, poking around gingerly at his ribs.  
  
A minute frown dragged at the corners of Arthur's mouth. "Go and wash, then," he said, a hint of worry alight in his eyes as they flicked up and down Merlin's torso. "We'll take care of this later."  
  
Merlin trudged to the edge of the lake, inching behind a well-placed shrub to remove the rest of his clothing, and eased himself into the gently undulating water. A strong afternoon sun had warmed it to a fairly comfortable degree, and Merlin submerged himself up to his neck, feeling some of the tension in his body wash away. He scrubbed off the few days' worth of sweat and grime as best he could, wincing occasionally as he reached for spots his muscles disagreed with. Eventually he hauled himself out of the lake's calm, dripping everywhere, and dried himself off and pulled his trousers on. He padded back towards the horses and Arthur, who was straddled across a fallen log, lobbing a small jar between his hands.   
  
"Sit," said Arthur, and held the jar out to him as Merlin perched himself alongside. "Rub some of that stuff on; it should help a bit."  
  
"Okay," said Merlin, recognising the whitish unguent that Gaius regularly whipped up for the knights when they complained of soreness from a day of hard training. Its light, soothing scent intensified as he applied a thin layer of the salve on the ache across his chest, still smarting slightly from the day he'd run into that branch and fallen off his horse, some of which was probably residual embarrassment.   
  
The ointment tingled a little as he spread it on, and Merlin felt the pain alleviate instantly, thinking of Gaius's warmth and kindness and resolving to be a better help to the physician when they got back. Assuming Morgana didn't come and murder him in his sleep, the likelihood of which, all things considered, was a lot higher than Merlin would have liked. He sighed quietly, shoulders drooping.   
  
Arthur gave him a sharp look. "What is it?"  
  
Merlin started. "Hm? What? Oh, nothing," he lied. "Just, er, thinking. Of, you know, things."  
  
"Well, that's certainly a momentous development," said Arthur, his lips tugging upwards. "Shall I organise a parade, do you think?"  
  
"Only if I don't have to clean it up after."  
  
"Mm," said Arthur, "then what would be the point?"  
  
Merlin pursed his lips slightly. "My devastating cleverness isn't enough for you?"  
  
"Oh, we both know that's not true," said Arthur. "You haven't any to speak of."  
  
Merlin's eyes narrowed, but only for a second; leaving aside the fact that he secretly harboured a great deal of mushy feelings for Arthur, this was what he liked best about their relationship -- where other masters might have had him drawn and quartered by now for his casual, familiar impudence, Arthur only egged him on. Merlin had learned long ago that Arthur's insults very rarely had barbs behind them; it was only his way of engaging Merlin's attention, and even given their massive differences in station, Merlin very firmly thought of Arthur as a friend and sometimes suspected that the feeling was mutual. Servants were expected to blend into the background and go about their business unseen and unheard, but with Arthur, Merlin stood front and centre.   
  
He felt a rush of affection for Arthur well up inside his chest, and wiped his nose on his arm to hide whatever embarrassing emotion was threatening to spill forth.   
  
Concentrating on the little jar in his hands, Merlin scooped out a bit more of the salve with two fingertips and tried to reach round to his back, which he obviously couldn't see, but judging by the grimace Arthur gave him, it probably looked pretty horrible. He _had_ been flung into the thick of a tree, after all; it was lucky he hadn't broken his back entirely. As he tried to rub the ointment in, the strain of twisting his arm backwards made him hiss in pain, and Arthur snatched the jar from his hands.   
  
"Give me that," he said, and motioned for Merlin to turn around so Arthur could have at his back.   
  
"Er," said Merlin, not sure that Arthur rubbing things on him was at all a good idea. "I can manage."  
  
"Without doing yourself further injury? I don't think so."  
  
"No, it's fine," he said, a little too brightly. "I --"  
  
"Limited time offer, Merlin," Arthur interrupted.   
  
Merlin complied, finally, because there were times when accepting help was the only gracious thing to do, especially when it was being offered by a royal person, and because there was a little bit of masochism in him that suddenly decided it was a fine day to come out and play. He shifted his perch on the log, steeling himself for the inevitable confusion of pleasure and unfulfilled want as Arthur laid his hands on him.   
  
He bit his lip upon feeling Arthur's fingers gently smoothe the salve over his skin, and tried to think of awful, hideous things, of many-headed beasts and feathered abominations he'd paged through in Gaius's bestiaries.   
  
Arthur cleared his throat harshly, his hands stilling for a moment along the slope of Merlin's shoulder. "My god, Merlin," he said in a loud, jaunty voice. "You must have razed an entire forest in a past life. It's like the trees are all mobilising to get you."  
  
Merlin acknowledged the statement, likely as not true, with a tiny chuckle, hoping Arthur might keep talking so he could concentrate on something else other than Arthur's soft touch.   
  
It didn't work; Arthur seemed to find nothing else worth commenting on, and Merlin was left with his hands making warm, soothing circles all up and down his back. He tensed, trying his best not to be lulled into serenity.   
  
"Relax, will you?" Arthur said, voice a bit thick. "Does it hurt?"  
  
"No," Merlin said tightly, except that it sort of did, but only in the general area of his heart.  
  
It was possibly due to Arthur never doing anything by halves, but the whole process seemed to stretch far longer than it should have taken to rub a bit of ointment in. The ointment appeared to have been forgotten entirely, in fact; the jar sat at their feet, neglected, while Arthur's hands made absent, abstract patterns over the expanse of Merlin's skin, and Merlin was torn between wrenching himself away from the gentle torture and just sitting there for the rest of his life.   
  
In his dreams, in the tired space just before he fell asleep at night, Merlin had imagined dozens of scenarios just like this one, and they'd all ended with his hand shoved down his pants, furious and frenzied, the high of satiation lingering until he drifted to sleep. Emptiness usually replaced it in the morning, but that was a trifle compared to the disappointment, even as it was thoroughly expected, that swept over him when Arthur pulled his hands away suddenly and vaulted off the log, expelling a harsh breath as he reared back.   
  
"Done," he said, brusque. "That's done."  
  
"Yeah, thanks," Merlin said, equally short, willing his nerves back in order. He pulled his tunic on again while Arthur looked away.   
  
The forest was silent for a moment, as if taking its time to weigh the outcome of Merlin's foray into the jaws of temptation, but Arthur broke it with his usual delicate flair.   
  
"Well," he said, "at least you don't have such a niff about you anymore."  
  
Merlin shut his heart down. "So is that _you_ I smell, then?"  
  
" _Rainbows,_ Merlin."  
  
Untying the horses, Merlin dredged up a small smile. If he couldn't have more, at least he could have normal, and normal was good enough.   


* * *

  
  
Uther had really gone all out for the feast, serving some of the finest delicacies that Camelot had to offer, in spite of the fact that the banquet had never been intended as an extravagant affair. The only individuals in attendance included Uther's council, King Pellinore and his retinue, and some of the more prominent members of the noble class. Several of Pellinore's servants had been involved in the preparations for the event, and as such, there were fewer of Camelot's servants required in order to serve that evening. Naturally, with that knowledge, Morgana dismissed Gwen for the evening with an appreciative smile, informing her that she could take some time to enjoy herself. Curiosity and a small measure of suspicion lit momentarily behind Gwen's eyes before she could hide the reaction, but she quickly schooled her features, curtseying and offering a grateful 'thank-you' before shuffling out the door. Something about the knowledge that Gwen would not be present that evening relieved an anxiety in Morgana that she hadn't even been aware of holding, even though Gwen would find out eventually what she'd been planning all along. Morgana couldn't afford to have Gwen around as a distraction, and more importantly, didn't want to see the look of disappointment in Gwen's eyes.  
  
Another source of distraction -- one she hadn't considered until it was too late to do anything -- was the presence of Leon in this whole affair. As of yet, he hadn't been asked to stay with Morgana while she dined with Uther, but this was quite a different situation, and there was no way of knowing whether the king would require his attendance as well. So it had come as a great relief to Morgana earlier that afternoon when Uther also dismissed Leon for the night, relieving him of his duties while she was attending the banquet. She would be safe under Uther's watchful eye, he'd claimed, and that was the end of it. The knowledge that Leon would no longer be present, watching over her every move, caused a small amount of tension to drain from Morgana's shoulders, and she told herself that it was simply because he would interfere with her plans, not for any other reason.  
  
So with the only two potential distractions still remaining within Camelot effectively removed from the equation, Morgana felt her confidence rise. King Pellinore would still be there to potentially hinder her advances, but Morgana knew that with the dress she wore, Uther's attention would instinctively be drawn back to her no matter what Pellinore did.  
  
Uther rose from his seat as the last of the food was placed down on the tables in front of them, and a hush quickly fell over the room as all eyes turned to him.  
  
“Today, we gather to celebrate the continued friendship and alliance between the great nation of Northumbria and Camelot.” He dipped his head respectfully to the right. “King Pellinore, we are honoured to have you. You and your people are always welcome in Camelot.”  
  
Rising to join Uther, Pellinore began making his own speech. Apparently one of the required characteristics of royalty was a penchant for long-winded declarations and a contentment with the sound of one’s voice. Morgana plastered on a wooden smile as the two kings continued to stroke each other's egos.  
  
"That was a lovely speech," Morgana murmured into Uther's ear as he sat down a few minutes later, smiling broadly at him.  
  
A look of curiosity passed over Uther's face before he broke out into a smile. "Thank you, Morgana."  
  
As dinner was served, Morgana immediately claimed Uther's attention, speaking of the treaty and the food and the cause for celebration. None of these were topics in which she harboured any real interest, but she knew Uther cared, and that was enough motivation for her to use in order to draw his consideration. Morgana made a point of laughing and smiling more than was strictly necessary, her hand often landing on Uther's forearm. She called the servants over often, ensuring that his glass always remained full, though he could hold his liquor far better than one would expect. Morgana did not need Uther inebriated; in fact, it would likely hinder her plans. But a slightly tipsy Uther would loosen his tongue, slow his reaction times, and lower his defences. All would prove useful if she hoped to ingratiate herself with him this evening.  
  
"Forgive me for any impropriety, my lord," Morgana said, some time during the third course, smiling brightly, "but you look positively delighted this evening. So handsome and every bit the great king I know you to be. It pleases me to see you so filled with joy. It suits you well." For added effect, Morgana leaned closer to him, providing ample opportunity for him to gaze down at her breasts, should he so choose, and placed a hand on his upper arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.  
  
If there was any suspicion or confusion elicited by her remarks or gestures, Uther did not let them show. "I _have_ been filled with joy, ever since your return. This is but a small feast in comparison to the one we will throw for your safe return, once Arthur is home to join us in our celebrations."  
  
The mention of Arthur's name put an immediate damper on her spirits; if he knew what she was doing, celebrating would be the last thing on his mind. It was true that, prior to the revelation of Lady Catrina’s less than noble -- or human -- background, he'd handled his father's relationship with her with surprising maturity, but Morgana suspected that he might not respond quite so favourably to having his sister become his stepmother, and worse, submitting to her reign once Uther died after the wedding.   
  
And he would die. She and Morgause hadn't decided how yet; she'd played so many scenarios of Uther's death in her head during her absence that they'd all started to blur together. She'd even imagined imprisoning him somewhere for the rest of his natural life so he could spend the last of his wretched days consumed with anger and regret, and the thought had made her smile through her hatred.   
  
"What do you think?" Uther said, startling Morgana out of her thoughts. "Shall I commission a bardic performance for it? I remember you used to like those best when you were younger."  
  
Morgana blinked, a breath caught in her throat. What she used to like was the serene lull of the lyrics as they washed over her, and the way everyone indulged her drifting to sleep in her chair, and Uther, after all the guests had gone, cradling her in his arms and carrying her to bed. And there were times when she'd only pretended to fall asleep just to be held, the smell of scented water Uther'd used for washing the most comforting thing in the world in that moment, until she'd got too old for it and had propriety to think of.   
  
"That would be wonderful," she said. "I'm surprised you remember."  
  
"Of course I do," Uther said, smiling, and squeezed her hand fondly.  
  
Before Morgana was able to do anything else, the voice of King Pellinore interupted them, boisterous and slightly louder than would've been preferable. "Uther, why didn't you tell me?"  
  
Uther blinked, retreating away from Morgana as he turned his head to glance at his friend, confusion etched into his features. "What are you talking about, Pellinore?"  
  
A large, ring-adorned hand gestured between Uther and Morgana, eyebrows raising suggestively, and she felt a light flush heat her face, even before he spoke. "I always knew you cared deeply for your ward, but I never realised that things had progressed quite so much since we last spoke..."  
  
The frown tugging at Uther's lips and the perplexed creases on his forehead told Morgana that he genuinely had no idea what Pellinore was trying to imply. "What do you mean? What about Morgana?"  
  
Pellinore grinned, flashing his teeth at them. "Don't worry, my friend. I would never judge who you choose to take as a... companion. As long as you're happy -- and you both clearly seem to be -- then that's all that's important to me."  
  
"Companion? Morgana...?" Eyes narrowed into tiny slits as Uther struggled to process what Pellinore was saying. Morgana knew that wine had the tendency to dull his senses and fog his mind, just enough to make the outlandish suggestion from the king all the more mystifying. But then he blinked, darting wild eyes between Pellinore and Morgana, as a deep flush crept up his neck. His mouth formed into a shocked "O", and it became obvious, then, that he'd finally managed to put all the pieces together.  
  
"Wait, you think that Morgana and I... that we're _together_ , in that... way?" Uther sputtered. It was the most flustered Morgana had seen him in a long time, and she wasn't sure if she should be encouraged or disturbed by the reaction.  
  
King Pellinore froze in place, one hand still hovering aimlessly in the air, smile sliding from his face. "You are, aren't you? Romantically involved, I mean."  
  
Wide eyes glanced anxiously around the room, as though Uther feared there were spies all over, watching and listening to every aspect of their conversation. It wasn't an impossibility, and in actuality, Morgana almost _hoped_ that someone caught wind and spread the information.  
  
"No, of _course_ not. That's completely preposterous. What would lead you to believe such a thing?" he asked, keeping his voice low, but still loud enough for both to hear.  
  
"I just thought… I mean surely, with the way you were looking at each other, and acting, it just seemed--" He shook his head, as if wiping the idea from his mind.  
  
Uther leaned forward. "I assure you, my friend, that you have drawn the wrong conclusion. Morgana is my ward, and I care for her deeply, but what you are suggesting is simply incorrect."  
  
Pellinore’s jaw clamped shut, eyes darting to his lap momentarily before meeting Uther’s stern gaze with the same measured confidence he always exuded. "I apologise for my egregious error. Let us not allow it to ruin our feast tonight."  
  
Without further discussion, both men returned their attention to the feast and their celebration while Morgana sought solace in her goblet of wine. It was yet another partial success, with a heavy side of failure, and she resolved to move things along in the coming days. But she would be triumphant, of that she was certain.


	7. Chapter 7

The sun was still hanging in the sky, having barely dipped below the tree line, when Arthur declared that they were going to make camp for the evening. Merlin's restless shifting throughout the afternoon and early evening had not evaded Arthur's watchful eye, in spite of the fact that Merlin appeared to be unsuccessfully trying to mask the obvious discomfort he was in. They weren't in any particular hurry, Arthur determined. Besides, any attempts at further travel would be essentially futile, what with Merlin practically ready to fall from his saddle at any moment.  
  
"Why are we stopping so early?" Merlin asked, slowing his horse to match Arthur's pace.  
  
Both eyebrows rose high on Arthur's forehead as he turned to glance at Merlin. "Do you _want_ to keep riding?"  
  
"No. But that's never made any difference before."  
  
"Then consider today your lucky day," Arthur said, voice full of cheer as he brought them to a halt, dismounting in one fluid motion. It took a lot more than one near-death fight with a creature to bring him down.  
  
"Right," Merlin grumbled. "Getting thrown off my horse, surviving an attack by a giant snake, then being forced to continue riding for several more hours is definitely what I'd call _luck_."  
  
Arthur shrugged, smiling in spite of himself. "It could be worse. You could be dead," he pointed out.  
  
Merlin's face twisted with displeasure. "Ha ha, very funny, sire. I feel so much better now, thank you."  
  
"Anything I can do to help."  
  
They stared at one another, Merlin glaring and Arthur smirking, until Arthur finally broke contact, gesturing for Merlin to get down. For a few long moments, Arthur watched him struggle to climb off the horse, looking more pathetic than a wet rat. It really was almost laughable, at times, how entirely useless Merlin could be, even with the injuries he'd sustained. With anybody else, Arthur would have long since shaken his head at the individual's ineptness and washed his hands of them entirely. But this was _Merlin_ , the man who'd managed to turn Arthur's world upside down on a regular basis for over two years now, and there was something about him that was so plainly endearing and vulnerable in equal measure, that in spite of Arthur's best efforts, he found he could never actually combat the urge to _care_ for Merlin, even when everything in him resisted the idea.  
  
"For pity's sake, Merlin, are you truly _that_ helpless?"  
  
A noise resembling a groan -- or perhaps a growl, Arthur couldn't quite be sure -- escaped Merlin's lips. He stared down at Arthur, wary. "No. I was planning on sleeping on my horse tonight, of course."  
  
"No need to get all huffy on me." Arthur bit back a smile as he sidled up to Merlin. He scratched his chin, eyes narrowing, as he pretended to deeply contemplate the situation. "I suppose you could just lean to the side until I can grab onto your shoulders and lower you down."  
  
Merlin blinked. "You want me to just _fall_ over and hope that you don't drop me?" he asked, dubious. "That seems even madder than spending the night up here."  
  
"Please, _Merlin_ , stop being such a little _girl_. Do you honestly think I'd just let you fall?" Really, there were only so many times that Arthur could put up with such an assault on his character. At times where death was nearly a certainty, Merlin had the utmost faith in Arthur, almost foolishly so. Yet with something as simple as catching him before he fell off a horse, Merlin looked as though he suspected Arthur of plotting his murder. Of course, Arthur knew he was only joking, but there was no harm in riding out the game anyway.  
  
"I think it would be wiser if I didn't answer that."  
  
Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Just get down here already." He tugged on Merlin's sleeve, just to further illustrate his point.  
  
"All right, fine," Merlin said, sounding truly put upon, but there was a mischievous glint to his eyes.  
  
The whole thing, surprisingly, went exactly as planned, and between the two of them, Merlin managed to end up feet first on the ground with no further mishaps. It was the first legitimate stroke of good luck they'd experienced since setting out on this journey, and even Arthur wasn't above celebrating the smaller successes in life.  
  
In a fit of charity that Arthur would later deny, he assisted Merlin with setting up camp. Which, in this case, meant that Arthur pretty much did everything while Merlin stood around looking, for all intents and purposes, useless. More than once Arthur caught Merlin watching him with an expression that was almost _fond_ , and every time it happened Arthur found himself forcing his gaze to the ground, willing the heat prickling at the back of his neck into oblivion.  
  
After a while, Arthur grew tired of Merlin simply watching him work and sent him out to collect wood, seeing as how he wasn't doing anything else the least bit useful anyway. Arthur welcomed the resulting silence, as it afforded him some much needed time to think on a few things. There'd been something that had been bothering him all afternoon, though by no means was the thought foreign. It'd come up more times over the past couple of years than Arthur could count, often sneaking into his head, tumbling around for a few moments, and then vanishing in a puff of proverbial smoke, never to be considered in further detail -- at least not until something else happened to trigger another moment's contemplation. Preposterous as it seemed, he couldn't quite extinguish the idea that perhaps something, or some _one_ , was watching out for him, protecting him from harm. The first time the idea invaded his mind was almost two years prior, when a glowing blue light had guided him to safety in the cave housing the Mortaeus flower, the only thing preventing him from death that day. The next time Arthur could acutely remember the idea floating to the surface of his mind was immediately following the incident with the Questing Beast. There was no way he should have survived that incident, from everything he'd been told. And yet, here he was, alive and well.  
  
The belief that he was being protected had begun to pop up more and more over the past year, and at times Arthur looked back on earlier incidents in his life and wondered if he couldn't draw the same conclusion then as well. But the thing was -- and this was the most important part of his recent revelations -- when Arthur reflected on all those seemingly inconsequential occurrences, there was only one common thread: Merlin. No matter how many times Arthur attempted to find another explanation or reason, he fell distinctly short, every single time. As much as Arthur enjoyed ragging on Merlin, the reality was that he was one of the most fascinating people Arthur had ever met, and he hadn't lied that day when he'd claimed there was "something about Merlin" that Arthur couldn't quite put his finger on.  
  
Except that he could, now, put his finger, figuratively speaking, on what was special about Merlin. Or at least Arthur _thought_ he could. The problem lay in the fact that to even suggest to Merlin what had been tumbling around in his brain for far too long, a suspicion made all the stronger by recent events, was treason to the very crown to which he swore fealty and allegiance. And if he happened to be wrong in his deductions... well, that would be the end of that, mystery solved. But if Arthur's suspicions _were_ correct, he would be forced to make a decision that would endanger both of their lives, because there was only one true option that he could ever imagine. Sometimes he desperately sought the answers to the question that'd already been asked in a million different ways, but there were other times when Arthur knew that never knowing for sure would leave him without culpability, which in turn meant that he wouldn't _have_ to take any action. It was admittedly a cowardly response, but it seemed the safest course of action all the same.  
  
However, Arthur saw no harm in fishing for more information anyway. Especially in light of the highly suspicious nature of his recent success with the serpent attack.  
  
"So... I've been thinking about that snake," he said casually, when Merlin returned from his wood-gathering excursion.  
  
A single eyebrow rose on Merlin's forehead as he gingerly knelt down to begin preparing the fire. "Oh?"  
  
"It was an awfully impressive final blow, wouldn't you agree?"  
  
"I don't think I was conscious yet at that point, but I've no doubt it was amazing, sire," Merlin agreed, overly indulgent, though far from convincing.  
  
"Hmm, really? I could have sworn I saw you looking over at me immediately after." Arthur tried to affect a casual air, eyeing Merlin carefully as he watched for a reaction to the statement. "Looked like you were waving or something, what with your arm held up like that. Very bizarre, even for you."  
  
A short laugh escaped past Merlin's lips, and Arthur was certain there was a nervous edge to the sound, though perhaps it was only wishful thinking on his part. "Yes, well, I needed to, er, get up, you know."  
  
Arthur nodded, watching as Merlin worked to get the fire started. Funny how it was taking an awfully long time now, yet in the past there were times when Merlin had been able to work up a roaring blaze almost immediately. The other night, in fact. A thought occurred to Arthur and he stood, turning his back to Merlin, with the excuse that he was grabbing something from his satchel. Sure enough, no more than five seconds after he'd turned away, Arthur glanced back at Merlin to see that a spark had just lit, and the fire was slowly burning. It could've been a coincidence, Arthur was willing to concede, but the likelihood was slim. If anything, it only confirmed what he already thought. Still, it wasn't enough yet. He needed to switch tactics.  
  
"What do you think about the idea of guardian angels?" Arthur asked, attempting to come across as nonchalant and uninterested as possible, idly tossing a few sticks into the now steadily burning fire.  
  
"Guardian angels?" Merlin's confused expression met Arthur's gaze.  
  
Arthur couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Yes, Merlin. I know the conversation is moving along at an alarming rate, but try to follow along here, would you?"  
  
Somehow Merlin managed to smirk at him while still glaring, and the sight did something funny to Arthur's stomach. He pushed it down, waiting for the retort he was expecting, but Merlin didn't rise to the barb. "My mum believed in them, thought that everyone had their own guardian angel, but that they only appeared when they were really needed. It's an interesting idea." There was a pause, and then, carefully, "Why are you asking?"  
  
Still no revealing reaction from Merlin, Arthur noted. He pressed on. "Just thought I've had… that someone might be watching over me sometimes." Arthur dug the toe of his boot into the ground.  
  
Merlin snorted. "With all the trouble you manage to get yourself into, I wouldn't be surprised if you did have someone out there watching your back." He looked for a moment like there was something else he wanted to say, but he clamped his jaws shut instead.  
  
"Funny. I never seemed to get into quite so much trouble before you arrived, Merlin," Arthur remarked slyly, attention still focused entirely on him. "Perhaps you were the catalyst."  
  
There was a moment where Merlin stilled, just for the briefest of seconds, but it wasn't lost on Arthur. "I'm quite sure you were more than capable of finding trouble long before I arrived, Arthur," Merlin said, smiling tightly at him.  
  
Several seconds passed before Arthur spoke, as he pretended to deeply ponder this suggestion. "You're right. The idea's rubbish." He waved a hand around aimlessly. "I don't need a guardian angel. I can take care of myself just fine. What a preposterous notion, that some _stranger_ should hover around me all the time, just waiting for an opportunity to protect me from harm that I'm more than capable of dealing with on my own."  
  
The line of Merlin's jaw was firm, hands balled into loose fists at his side. To the casual observer, he looked entirely normal, but Arthur could practically _feel_ the tension coiled in his shoulders. A reaction, finally.  
  
"How do you know it's a stranger?" Merlin asked, eyeing Arthur carefully. "Hypothetically, of course."  
  
"Because it's not anybody I know, clearly. The only person that hovers around me with alarming frequency is _you_ , and we both know that the mere notion of you being my protector is utterly _absurd_. Laughable, even."  
  
Merlin met his gaze this time, eyes dark but mostly impassive. Still… there was a hint of annoyance and maybe even challenge lurking behind his expression, and Arthur felt a thrill shoot through his veins like electricity.  
  
"How do you know I haven't been watching out for your princely arse ever since I arrived in Camelot?"  
  
Arthur scoffed, laughing openly, though not unkindly. "Please, Merlin. You can barely tie laces properly. The notion of _you_ actually having the skill and wit to watch out for me..." he trailed off then, unexpectedly, suddenly feeling as though he didn't want to finish the thought. His point had been made, after all. And while Merlin hadn't outright demonstrated any obvious indications that Arthur's suspicions were correct, he felt fairly confident in the knowledge that Merlin was hiding a very large part of who he was from Arthur.  
  
For several moments, Arthur watched Merlin's jaw tighten and then slacken, mouth opening twice before quickly shutting again, as if he were tossing aside potential retorts. "I think you underestimate me sometimes," was what he finally seemed to settle on, and there was an air of sadness and disappointment to the words that made Arthur's stomach churn.  
  
He was beginning to think that perhaps Merlin was right. Arthur forced a smile, saying nothing, and threw a stick at him, fighting down the fear and want that was simultaneously eating away at his core. Two significant pieces of information had been obtained by Arthur in the past day, and now he needed time to sort through what it all meant and how it had the potential to change him, and his relationship with Merlin, permanently.  


* * *

  
  
After the startled and vehement denial Uther had given to King Pellinore's remarks, Morgana had worried that, in trying to keep up appearances of propriety, Uther might distance himself, but he seemed no less willing to spend what time she asked of him in her company, and that was something of a relief. It was a simultaneous credit and deficiency to his character that Uther often cared little of what others thought of him, unless they thought he was a firm, hard-nosed, no-nonsense ruler, in which case he welcomed it; a king's reputation could do much worse.   
  
With Morgana, however, since her return, he was far more given to lightness and ease. That he cared for her, in his limited capacity, was no secret, else she might well have spent her adolescent years languishing in the servants' quarters rather than growing up the lady of the house, and as much as it played into her plans for him, it unnerved her as well. She had to afford him as much of her time as she could find, but as the days went on, stemming what had initially been a trickle of latent affection for Uther became harder and harder to deal with. A little affection sometimes burst into overwhelming warmth, jumping her nets and swelling into a genuine smile on her face when she least expected it.   
  
At the same time, with Arthur due to return soon, she knew she had to keep wearing Uther down with gentle words that, day by day, felt less and less like lies. It had been easy when she'd been away, wrapped in Morgause's incendiary confidence, to fuel the animosity she'd felt towards him, to envisage the hard lines on his face and the cold glitter in his eyes; but she could see none of that now, as he smiled amusedly at her over their chessboard, where he'd just felled one of her rooks.   
  
Morgana shut her eyes and pushed away the image of his benign smile, and remembered, savagely, that this was the same man who'd clapped her in chains simply for daring to have a difference of opinion. Her will hardened and her eyes snapped open, her sights focussed singly on the white king across the board.   
  
"My lord," she said, her voice thick with ingratiation, "I wonder if --"  
  
An urgent knock on the door whirled Uther's attention away from her, and Morgana bit down a frown. At Uther's leave, the door swung open, and a guard stepped in.   
  
"Sire, the knights have returned."  
  
"Ah, excellent, that'll be Arthur," said Uther, rising from his chair. "This shouldn't take long; I'll be back to finish your king off in no time." He smirked at Morgana, and if she didn't know any better, would have sworn there was a twinkle in his eye, playful and alarming in equal measure.   
  
Morgana bowed her head in acknowledgement, fighting the urge to tip the chessboard onto the floor and crush every piece with her foot, as Uther strode out of the chamber. She stood, sparing no more than half a second's glance at the sentries at the door, and began to pace.   
  
Of course, she had been expecting Arthur for days now, and had, in fact, developed and subsequently buried a niggling worry that something might have happened to him on the way there or back, as she'd often done in the past whenever Uther sent him off on his fool's errands in Camelot's name. But now she couldn't help feeling a slight resentment for the difficulties Arthur would no doubt present to her plans. For all of Uther's indifference to the way others perceived him, Morgana knew that Arthur's opinion, however often discarded, held more weight than his father let on, and she had a feeling he'd be none too pleased with the direction her ambitions were taking.   
  
Everyone knew she was meant to be Queen someday; that hadn't changed. The only minor difference was _whose_.   
  
It would take more than a few syrupy words to soften Arthur if he got his hackles up about this -- and if she knew him at all, he most certainly would have more than a mouthful of objections to share with anyone who'd listen; it was all well and good sending him off to the woods to chase after ghosts for a while, but she needed to find some other method of keeping him out of the way if she had the slimmest hope of getting to the throne.   
  
A quiet rapping sounded at the door; it eased open, and Sir Leon slipped in. "My lady."   
  
The habit hadn't quite been eliminated yet, no matter how many times Morgana had told him not to stand on ceremony with her, but the tone of his voice told her this wasn't the time to pursue the matter. "What is it?" she asked.   
  
"I thought you ought to know," he said grimly. "The knights have returned --"  
  
"Yes, I heard; Uther is getting Arthur's report now."  
  
Leon shook his head slightly. "Prince Arthur isn't with them. They have no idea where he is; they've been separated for days and there's no trace of him."  
  
Morgana stared. "What?"  
  
"I was given to understand that they lost sight of him in bad weather," he said, apologetically, as though he'd had some part in it, "and they spent some days searching for him but it was unfamiliar terrain. Sir Bedivere decided to turn back for reinforcements; they're with the king now."  
  
Apprehension gripped her by the heart, and Morgana clutched the corner of her chair, leaning her weight and worry against it. She'd never meant for anything to happen to Arthur -- had, in fact, extracted a promise from Morgause that he would make it back to the castle unscathed. Morgana closed her eyes for a moment; this was her fault. She'd sent Arthur away to blindly navigate a maze of nothingness and now he was lost.   
  
And even as guilt tightened its noose, a tiny part of her rejoiced at having one less obstacle to her plans, and it made her feel worse than ever; if Arthur never came back, she wasn't sure if her conscience could withstand the crush of remorse piling brick by brick inside her.   
  
Leon strode forwards hurriedly, hands hovering around her as if he thought she might slump to the floor any moment. "I'm sure Arthur is all right," he said, "and if the king will allow it, I'll lead the search party myself."  
  
Morgana blinked at him. "Of course."  
  
She felt the weight of his hesitation before he covered her hand, briefly, with his. "I'll bring him back; I promise."  
  
There was no reason to believe that he could, but Morgana nodded at him, feeling a flutter of hope and gratitude all the same.   


* * *

  
  
Morning rolled around with little fanfare, though even had it blown a thousand trumpets to announce its arrival, Merlin would have been unlikely to notice, his thoughts wrapped firmly around Arthur.   
  
It was a curious thing about Arthur that he could be read about as easily as a children's book -- with the last page torn out.   
  
There was an open honesty about his features that occasionally lent itself to the impression of happy stupidity, and given the way they'd first met, Merlin, had he not had the fortune of being foisted into Arthur's employ, would have easily believed there was nothing in the prince's head so much as hot air. He knew better, of course, of the fierce intelligence that simmered underneath -- spend enough time around Arthur and it just begged to be noticed. A light like Arthur's couldn't stay hidden for long, and with over two years of service under Merlin's belt, the surprise of Arthur's astuteness breaking the surface had long ceased to be novel.   
  
It was puzzling, then, that Arthur should be playing this game with him, making all kinds of breezy remarks about guardian angels and prancing round and round the point but never quite getting to it. That Arthur might suspect Merlin's true identity should have come as no surprise; there had been so many instances in the past where Merlin had had to use his magic in Arthur's presence and although Arthur liked to pretend sometimes that he was thick to lull others into complacency, he very much wasn't. And despite what seemed to be aimless chatter, Merlin knew Arthur was fishing for answers without so much as asking anything.   
  
What remained to be said now was as simple as _yes_ or _no_ , and as complicated as _I'm sorry_.   
  
But Arthur was no closer to getting to the question than Merlin was prepared to answer it, and it was frustrating as much as it was a relief. For all he knew of Arthur, his sense of justice, his inherent goodness, his heart, there was an equal part of years-long indoctrination that sorcery was evil and those who committed it likewise, and in Merlin's mind, neither outweighed the other; he had just as good a chance of gaining Arthur's confidence as swinging from the gallows.   
  
When it came right down to it, Merlin wouldn't think twice about using his magic for the whole world to see if it meant saving Arthur's life, but in order to get to that point, if it ever came, Merlin himself had to stay alive. Given his odds, Merlin let Arthur prattle on, feigning interest and innocence as they travelled homewards.   
  
He'd come clean, Merlin knew, if Arthur ever asked him directly -- he hated lying to Arthur; hated hiding, hated keeping so many secrets from the man who'd become dearer to him than his own life -- but Arthur himself, despite dropping crumbs all over the place for Merlin to pick up, wasn't anywhere near putting his finger on it, and Merlin wondered if perhaps he wasn't quite sure he wanted to know the answer just yet.   
  
Or perhaps he was just waiting for Merlin to say it first. Like how Uther would lighten a sentence to merely chopping one hand off instead of two if the criminal confessed to thievery without too much prompting.   
  
Merlin glanced at Arthur guiltily, and Arthur gave him an encouraging lift of an eyebrow in return. It said, in Merlin's imagination, _we'll only behead you halfway if you tell me now_.   
  
He looked away quickly, pretending to eye something interesting in the distance, until the distance really did present him with something interesting to look at.   
  
"Arthur -- do you see?" Merlin pointed to pinpoints of bright red steadily getting closer.   
  
"My knights!" Arthur said. "About bloody time."  
  
Before long the two parties caught up with each other, and it was with clear relief shining across his face that Sir Leon greeted them, waving one arm and shouting a great halloo for good measure.   
  
"Sire!" said Leon, as they reunited. "Thank god you're all right; where did you go?"  
  
"Where did _I_ go? Where did the rest of you go?" Arthur accused, and waved a hand at Leon. "Not you; you weren't there. Everything at home all right?"  
  
Leon nodded. "Everyone's been worried, but I promised the lady Morgana I'd bring you back," he said, with a smile.   
  
"Morgana?" Arthur said, as the group continued on its way. "She's probably just glad to have run of the castle without me there to rein her in."  
  
Merlin threw him a sharp glance, but Arthur and Leon were already moving on to other topics of discussion, and he was left to wonder just how true Arthur's flippant statement might be. Arthur had no reason to distrust Morgana, but Merlin had plenty; he didn't know what had been said or done during her long absence, but it seemed a very pretty coincidence, as he thought about it now, that Arthur should be sent away as soon as she'd returned, and not merely sent away but cut off from his reinforcements and nearly killed as well by a creature from the worst of nightmares.   
  
He was sorry, still sorry that he'd tried to kill her. But not as sorry as she would be if he found out she had been behind the attack.   
  
Buoyed by the prince's safe discovery, the company made it back to the castle well before nightfall, and Arthur was called to an audience with the king as soon as he dismounted. In the great hall, Uther smiled, pleased, upon seeing Arthur alive and well, and seated to his left, Morgana immediately leapt from her chair, squeezing Arthur's hand, shades of relief in her eyes.  
  
Merlin stood at one side of the room, mostly unnoticed, watching the proceedings closely; he couldn't help the stab of suspicion that Morgana might be putting on a very good performance, and consequently, the anger that followed on its heels.   
  
As Arthur reported to his father what had happened on the journey, however, there was no mistaking the shock that crossed Morgana's face, the worry that creased her brow, and Merlin's ire abated, petering out as quickly as it had surged to life. Perhaps she was that good an actor and Merlin was being taken in, but it seemed as though she was genuinely horrified to hear of the serpent's attack, not to mention its unlikely existence to begin with, and Merlin frowned to himself, torn in more directions than ever.   
  
"-- but without Merlin's help, I doubt I could have overcome it," said Arthur, and Merlin blinked at the sound of his own name.   
  
"Yes, good," said Uther, losing interest in the narrative now that it had come to a servant's exploits. He waved a generous, dismissive hand. "A few extra coins this week for his services to the throne, perhaps."  
  
Merlin bowed stiffly and affected a smile of servile obligation, catching Morgana's eye as he straightened; the resentment that burned in her gaze still cut like a knife, but it was duller somehow, tinged with something like grudging curiosity. It disappeared a moment later, along with Morgana's regard, as Uther dismissed Arthur and the knights from the hall, and he wasn't sure if he hadn't imagined it in the first place.   
  
As the assemblage exited the room, Merlin felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and knew without looking that it was Arthur. He turned.   
  
"Merlin. I want you to know..." he said in a low voice. In the dancing light of the sconces that studded the wall, shadows unfurled over his face, and he looked more serious than Merlin had ever seen. A knight, straggling behind the rest, passed by; Arthur glanced at him with a nod as he walked past, and when his gaze returned to Merlin, the moment was gone. One side of Arthur's mouth lifted. "Take the night off. You've earned it."  
  
"Thank you, sire," said Merlin, for lack of anything more useful to say.   
  
Arthur gave him another long moment's consideration, and then turned on his heel and headed toward his chambers. Staring after him produced little other result, so Merlin made his way back to his own quarters, body battered and fatigued, but his mind still trying feverishly to untangle the jumble of his thoughts.   
  
"Ah! My boy," said Gaius, when Merlin threw the door open, and came forward with his arms outstretched to embrace him, fond and familiar. "I heard you and Arthur ran into a bit of trouble?"  
  
Merlin smiled. "That's putting it lightly," he said, moving towards Gaius's overworked bookshelves. "What do you have on giant snakes?"  
  
"My goodness," said Gaius, and surveyed his collection for a moment before pulling out several large volumes, to Merlin's increased dismay.   
  
Sat at an empty end of Gaius's workbench, Merlin, plied with tea and leftover stew, set to work paging through each tome. By the fourth book his energy was beginning to flag dramatically, and he groaned out loud, slumping onto the table like a limp slab. He turned the page and immediately shot up again.   
  
"There," he said, pointing to an inked image of a rearing snake, fangs bared and tipped with venom, horns poised to strike, and about five times larger than the little, hand-drawn figures dropping their farming tools and running away from it. "That's it. Gaius, that's what we fought."  
  
Gaius shuffled over and peered at the end of Merlin's finger. "Cerastes," he intoned, and frowned, flicking a significant look at Merlin. "It is a creature of magic."  
  
Merlin stared at the picture; remove the extra people fleeing in horror and swap out the pitchfork for a sword, and the drawing could have been of him and Arthur facing down the awful serpent. "Do you mean somebody conjured it up?"  
  
"It's possible," said Gaius. "I have not heard news of them in these parts for a very long time."  
  
"So someone might have _made_ it specifically to get at _Arthur_?"  
  
One eyebrow made a dash for the top of his head as Gaius stared at him, unsure how Merlin had got from one thought to the next. "What makes you think that?"  
  
Merlin hesitated. Conspiracy theories were nothing new in Camelot, but in this case he had nothing more to go on than a gut feeling and what could easily be put down to coincidence. "What," he asked slowly, "do you think Morgana was doing while she was away?"  
  
Another frown pulled at the physician's mouth. "Thinking up an escape plan, I'd imagine," he said, and eyed Merlin closely. "Are you saying Morgana had something to do with this?"  
  
"I don't know," Merlin sighed, and scrubbed a dry palm over his face. "I just don't think it's an accident that following Morgana's directions led Arthur to being attacked."  
  
Gaius squeezed his shoulder. "The people who took her must have known Arthur would be coming after them; they could have easily set the trap and gone," he said, a kindly look in his eye, which was somehow worse than if he had rebuked Merlin for thinking such scandalous thoughts in the first place. "You're tired, Merlin. Get some rest; it'll make more sense in the morning."  
  
Merlin's face screwed with dissatisfaction.   
  
"Look," said Gaius. "I've known Morgana since she was a little girl. She is capable of many things, but trying to kill Arthur --" He shook his head.  
  
Whether that was true or not, Merlin couldn't quite be certain, but he was in no state of mind to argue the point at present. What Gaius had posited made far more sense than Morgana wanting Arthur dead; her objections and recriminations had always been laid at Uther's feet, not Arthur's, and Merlin himself had seen the horrified expression on her face when Arthur had related the news of the attack and could readily believe that she'd had nothing to do with it. But he couldn't shake the feeling that she had still been involved somehow.   
  
"I suppose you're right," said Merlin, eventually, closing the book.  
  
Gaius smiled warmly at Merlin, reaching out to give his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "I'm sure I am. Now, I have a few errands to run, my boy, but you should get some sleep while I'm gone."  
  
The idea struck Merlin as very appealing, suddenly. With a little wave, he watched as Gaius toddled out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.  
  
Merlin eyed the books still strewn haphazardly across the workbench and decided that the least he could do for Gaius would be to put them away before going to sleep. The physician was not as young as he sometimes liked to think, and each tome was quite heavy. The problem, Merlin quickly discovered, was that he barely had the energy to stand himself, let alone lift several cumbersome texts.  
  
Without any real thought or consideration for what he was doing, Merlin extended his hand and muttered a few words as he levitated the first book from the table, guiding it to its proper place on Gaius' shelf.   
  
Halfway through the pile, a silky voice slithered in behind him. "Well."  
  
There was a loud thunk as the book dropped to the floor, instantly stopped in its course towards the shelf, and Merlin spun round to find Morgana advancing slowly on him with measured footsteps, a dagger twirled idly between her fingers. It was small, but he had no doubt of the extent of damage she could do if she put her mind to it; he'd seen her with a sword before, and coupled with the incredible menace she'd packed into the single word uttered thus far, the fear seeping through his body seemed the only logical and appropriate response. Merlin hadn't even heard her enter the room, and the knowledge filled him with a sickening sense of horror. How could he have been so utterly careless, so completely foolish? His feet shifted backwards.   
  
"Morgana," he said, eyes darting about for any sign of her private guard. He'd caught wind of the tail end of a conversation between Arthur and one of his knights, informing him that Uther had kept a tight leash on Morgana since they'd set out on their journey. Surely she wouldn't openly murder him in Leon's presence.  
  
As though she could read his mind, Morgana said brusquely, eyes glittering like cold stars in an endless sky, "He's meeting with some of the knights. It's just you and me, Merlin."  
  
"What are you doing here?" he asked. It was a stupid question and he knew it, but he was clutching at straws to stall for time, for all the good it would do.   
  
"Oh," she said, playing along, "I ran out of the sleeping draught Gaius usually gives me; thought I might as well fetch some more as I was passing by." The knife glinted as she drew the blade along her fingertips, testing its sharpness, and her voice took on its an edge. "Lucky coincidence to find you here."  
  
In the time it took him to swallow the panic rising in his throat, Merlin found himself shoved against the bookshelf at the back of the wall, the force so sudden that it took him a second to register Morgana's forearm pressing flat at his throat and the knife in her raised fist, aimed at the dead centre of his chest. Her eyes burned, all pretences abandoned and leaving nothing but steel and fury.   
  
" _You_ ," she said in a voice so savage it could have torn the world to shreds. "You utter _bastard_."  
  
"Morgana, please," he choked, but made no move to fight her off, half-hoping she'd just stab him and get it over with.  
  
"Defend yourself," Morgana hissed through clenched teeth, " _sorcerer_."   
  
Merlin's eyes pricked with tears, and whether that was from the crushing pain at his throat or the flood of past regrets, it was difficult to tell, and made no easier by the realisation that not only did she have the grounds to extract an eye for an eye, his sheer carelessness, his stupidity and _laziness_ had let slip his true identity to her. For his betrayal, for his selfishness, for his unwillingness to help her when she'd needed it the most, he couldn't fault her anger.  
  
"I'm sorry," he rasped. "I'm sorry."  
  
His throat tightened, all apologies smashed flat as Morgana bore her arm down on his windpipe. "You're _sorry_?" she spat. "For what? Poisoning me? Letting me think I was mad and dangerous? Leaving me on my own to struggle with my abilities when you yourself have magic? And all the while calling yourself my _friend_? Give me one good reason, Merlin, one good reason why I shouldn't strike you down where you stand."  
  
Merlin opened his mouth, but no more sound could escape than air could get in. He wondered, inanely, when Gaius would discover his body, if Morgana left anything to be found.   
  
Her right arm, poised to strike, suddenly flagged, and with another ungracious push, she let Merlin slide down the wall and tossed the dagger away like an old plaything; it bounded harmlessly across the floor.   
  
"Thank you," he croaked, slumped to the ground and massaging his neck.   
  
"You're no good to me dead," Morgana said, barely looking at him now; her hands shook for a moment and she clasped them tightly across her stomach. "There are too few of us as it is, and I won't do Uther's dirty work for him."   
  
"Morgana --"  
  
She flicked a careless glance his way. "You have magic," she said, as a statement of fact.   
  
Merlin nodded. "I'm sorry," he said again, uselessly.   
  
This time, the look she shot him was sharp enough to cut glass. "You abandoned me, and then tried to _kill_ me. Do you really think that's enough?"   
  
"No. And maybe it will never be, but please -- _please_ believe that I had no choice," Merlin said, scrabbling to his feet, and swallowed another _sorry_. All the apologies in the world would get him nowhere, when she didn't want to hear them. "All of Camelot would have died because of you; it was the only way I could save them."  
  
It was nearly imperceptible, a flinch that seized Morgana's features, and it fled as quickly as it came. She stared at him, the hauteur of royalty, making him feel as insignificant as the dirt beneath her feet. "Sometimes sacrifices need to be made for the greater good," she said. "At least it would have effected change. We could have been _free_. All you managed to do was earn yourself an enemy and reinstate Uther to his old ways."  
  
For a second, Merlin wished he had her strength of conviction. Long had he wished things might be different, that persecution didn't hound him and his like at every corner, that his life might not be a lie. But he remembered the terrified, helpless look on her face that afternoon; no matter what she said now, it was clear that at the time of the sleeping spell, she had had no idea she was the one causing it.   
  
"Was it your choice?" Merlin asked. "Would you have let everyone just die like that? Arthur, Gwen, Gaius?"  
  
The arrogance faded for a moment, and in her hesitance, Merlin gleaned the answer; she was just as conflicted as he was about her place in this world, tied to the familiar and the friendly whilst stamping down an essential part of herself that longed to shine. He knew the feeling, the constant vacillation between the mundanity of an ordinary life, but a life nonetheless, and proving himself to be extraordinary, but dying for it. For himself, he'd made the latter option unavailable; whether or not the dragon had lied to him with his grand words about destiny, Merlin knew, fate aside, that he loved Arthur and needed to protect him, and if the world never knew what powers he held at his fingertips, then so be it. For Morgana...  
  
He blinked at her curiously, overriding the trepidation churning around his insides to ask the question that had plagued him ever since her return. "Why have you come back?"   
  
It took her a moment too long to respond. "I don't know what you mean."  
  
"I mean," said Merlin carefully, "that you weren't taken or held against your will, were you? You could have been free, outside Camelot."   
  
Morgana narrowed an assessing gaze on him, weighing her options and their consequences. Eventually, she said, "I'm here to set things right."  
  
"What does that mean? What are you planning?"  
  
"It means, _Merlin_ , that I'm doing what you haven't the courage to do," she said, a rise of anger flushing her cheeks. Her voice softened, but it was no less dangerous, as she added, "And if you get in my way, getting sentenced to the pyre will be the least of your worries."  
  
Merlin shook his head. "Morgana, whatever it is --"  
  
"Is none of your concern," she snapped. "Stay out of it, Merlin."  
  
With that, she sailed out of the workshop, all elegance even in her fury. Merlin stared at the door for a moment, then sank down on his haunches and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, tired and helpless and alone.


	8. Chapter 8

The fact that she'd seen this happen dozens of times before had no bearing on the visceral anger threatening to gush out of her in a slew of curses and fists. The court was gathered in the great hall, for no other reason than Uther liked to make an occasional spectacle of these things, and because he could.   
  
On the other side of the king, Arthur shifted impatiently, uncomfortable in his chair and position, clearly waiting for a chance to voice his dissent, and Morgana loved him for it. For her part, for her deception, she could no longer speak her mind freely; not that it would be of much use if she ended up in the dungeons in restraints while the accused marched to the pyre.   
  
This time, it was a boy, no older than fifteen by the look of him, though terrified enough to throw all sense of propriety to the wind and sob like a lost child crying for his mother.   
  
Morgana, viciously, pressed her own distress down, locked it in a cage, made sure no trace of it could be seen on her face. At the back of the hall, Merlin had less luck wrestling his feelings into obedience, a white-knuckled restlessness tensing his whole body. She caught his eye, and for a brief moment there passed a shared understanding between them, two outsiders stealing through the doorway into a world that wanted nothing to do with them.   
  
She hadn't forgiven him. She wasn't sure if she ever could, but she knew why he hid and why things had turned out like this between them. Still, uncertainty nagged at her at whether sparing his life was the right thing to do, especially when he'd had no qualms taking hers. Morgana tore her eyes away from him, feeling sick.   
  
"This is absurd," Arthur said finally, interrupting the litany of charges flung at the boy in the middle of the room. "His sister was sick and he was only trying to _help_. Surely you can understand --"  
  
Uther held up a silencing hand. "Sorcery is sorcery, however small," he said in a low voice. "And the law is not to be bent by whims. He knew the consequences when he undertook his treachery. Didn't you, boy?" He swept a hard look across the boy's head as though his presence could be scrubbed clean out of existence.   
  
"Please, my lord," said the boy, a rattle of bones and desperation, "I only wished for my sister to get better; I promise, I _promise_ I won't ever do it again. Please, my mum and dad, they need me -- the crops --" He hiccuped, choking over his own breath.   
  
For a tiny moment, Morgana thought she saw the king soften, but perhaps it was only fanciful thinking; for someone who had been willing to sentence his oldest, most loyal friend to execution because of the unwarranted accusations of a quack witchfinder whose reputation preceded torture and death, of course a mere peasant boy stood no chance.   
  
"I daresay you should have thought of that beforehand," Uther said, and motioned the guards to take the boy away.   
  
As the court dissolved, a babble of murmurs and mutters rising to keep the sound of the boy's cries at bay, Arthur leapt to his feet, and Morgana willed him forward with all the withering hope left in her heart.   
  
"Father, you can't do this; he's just a boy, for god's sake."  
  
It sounded familiar, and it was; it was like watching the same scene from a play over and over again.   
  
"Enough, Arthur. You know the law as well as I do; we cannot make exceptions," Uther said, with a laboured weariness that heated Morgana's resentment to a boil. "And might I remind you that I will not have my authority undermined in my own court."  
  
The same actors, the same ending.   
  
Morgana watched silently as Uther strode out of the hall with the finality of someone who always gets the last word, leaving Arthur to look ruefully after him and then gather the pieces of a disappointed son and shape them into a prince.   
  
"Come on," he said quietly to Merlin, who had yet to stop radiating wretchedness from his little corner of the room, "I feel like having some target practice."  
  
No one had ever accused Morgana of being particularly observant, but the gesture, small as it was and nearly insignificant, caught her attention immediately. Arthur was tactile in a way that often caused mild injury -- a clap on the back after a good joke, a cuff on the shoulder for encouragement, a swat with the flat of his sword for not paying attention -- but his hand on the small of Merlin's back as he ushered them out of the hall, it was something different entirely, protective, and maybe even proprietary.   
  
He obviously didn't know about Merlin's magic, or Merlin wouldn't have looked so horrible and pallid, and she wondered how hard Arthur would fight for him if it was Merlin on his knees in front of the king. She wondered how hard Arthur would fight for her.   
  
_No matter_ , Morgana thought to herself, her gaze sweeping over the empty room. She'd make sure he'd never have to.   


* * *

  
  
Camelot's struggle with sorcery had gone on as long as he could remember; there were dim recollections of burnings and beheadings carefully scheduled during his lessons, when he'd be shut up in the castle doing sums while blood flowed across the flagstones, and then a rather clearer memory of Gaius arguing, in his understated, subservient manner that never amounted to much dissent at all, with Uther about making Arthur attend his first public execution at the age of nine. He'd ended up squeezing his eyes shut during it, the collective gasp of the crowd more than enough to bear at the time, though he'd known full well he ought to have been brave about it, as instructed. But then, Uther's instructions often didn't sink as deep as he expected.   
  
It would have been easier, maybe, if the years of Uther banging on about the evils of sorcery had instilled the same manner in Arthur; at least then he wouldn't have the small voice always tugging at him, telling him that his father, who was strong and mighty and wise, was also wrong.   
  
And it had troubled him enough this time, losing the battle yet again against his father's bullheadedness, that as soon as he and Merlin had had a private moment while setting up the archery targets, Arthur declared that things would change once he ascended to the throne.   
  
He meant every word, though, for reasons he hadn't the wherewithal to explore at the moment, he wasn't sure why he'd had to make such a point of it to Merlin, of all people, who often missed the point of things even if they poked him in the eye; such admissions were dangerous -- treasonous, even, if they caught Uther on a bad day. All Arthur knew for certain was that one day he would put an end to this blind fury against magic; that Merlin happened to be there when Arthur had set the thought to words -- coincidence.   
  
It definitely wouldn't be the last among many, Arthur thought wryly to himself, as he wended his way through the castle now, left to his own devices while Merlin attended to his apprenticeship duties. Merlin seemed to collect coincidences as an avid hobby; if they added up to something more concrete Arthur hadn't seen it yet, though he had his theories. Or just the one theory, which made absolute sense when he put his memories together end to end, and seemed like the mad ravings of a drunkard when he thought of Merlin and his allergy to doing anything right.   
  
But then there were a lot of things about Merlin that reconciled about as neatly as pieces from a dozen different puzzles. Even physically, he seemed to have been fashioned from an overabundance of angles and elbows and clothed by an indecisive child; he was intuitive to a fault when it came to Arthur's needs except involving anything to do with cleanliness; he never shut up apart from the times when extracting a single word from him was as exhausting as a week-long hunting trip; his smile was as bright as the sun except he never used it anymore.   
  
It wasn't difficult to tell when something was bothering Merlin, though, in this case, it wasn't so much that something was _bothering_ him as harassing him within an inch of his life and deriving great pleasure from it. And if whatever was bothering him happened to be a _whomever_ , Arthur would have no compunction about banishing the interloper to the next life and beyond, but he had no clue what was weighing on Merlin's heart, and this was clearly one of those times Merlin wouldn't say a word in spite of Arthur's repeated needling. The best he could do, and it wasn't nearly enough, was to pay attention and make sure he was listening should Merlin decide to let him in on it.  
  
Perhaps he had gone too far with his prattle about guardian angels, trying to goad Merlin into answering a question he didn't really need an answer to. He'd stopped short of asking it outright, partly because he was afraid of being wrong, but mostly because he didn't know what he would do if he was right. At present, all he had was speculation, and that wasn't anything that needed to be acted on; if he had confirmation, however, everything would change irrevocably, and what that would mean for him and Merlin was something he didn't want to think about. His one consolation was that he wasn't what was causing Merlin's melancholy, because that cloud had been hanging over Merlin's head for months now, but his comments and prying probably hadn't helped, and Arthur suddenly wished he'd never said anything at all.  
  
Arthur sighed softly to himself as he passed through the castle, half-wishing he could return to the days when servants were just servants and didn't do awful things like crawl under his skin and curl up and nestle there like they belonged.   
  
He rounded a corner to find Gwen pacing along the corridor outside his chambers, worrying her sleeves between her fingers. A pang of guilt struck a sour note in him as he realised he hadn't thought of her for days. "Gwen," he said. "Is everything all right?"  
  
"Oh!" she said, startled at the sound of his voice. "Yes, everything's fine. I think. It's just -- have you seen Morgana recently?"  
  
"Why? Did you misplace her?"  
  
Gwen granted him a smile at this, the sort of indulgent expression a mother might bestow upon a sweetly silly child. "I've just come away from her chambers and left her in Sir Leon's good hands," she said, playing along as though Arthur's question had been remotely serious. Her smile faded, however, as Arthur strode up to her. "I wonder if -- if we could talk?"  
  
Not at all liking the restlessness that crossed her gentle features, Arthur extended an arm, sweeping her into his chambers with a wide gesture. "Of course, anything."  
  
"Have you noticed --" Gwen began, and stopped herself, as though she had been about to say something that ought not be said, fingers drifting over her lips like they could hide her words.   
  
"What is it?"  
  
"My lady has been acting a bit strange lately," she said, the end of her statement rising into a near question, seeking validation.   
  
Arthur shrugged; the truth was that he'd been so preoccupied, first with trailing after Morgana's assailants and then coming home with his head stuffed so full of thoughts of Merlin that there wasn't space for anything else, he hadn't had the time to notice much. "In what way?" he asked.   
  
Gwen's cheeks stained with a blush. "Maybe it's nothing," she hastened to say, but the slight furrow of her brow showed quite plainly that, as far as she was concerned, it was a lot more than nothing. "I don't think I've done anything wrong... but she doesn't talk to me like she used to; she keeps everything to herself now."  
  
Arthur tried not to raise an eyebrow, and from the way Gwen's mouth twisted as soon as she finished speaking, she herself was aware that what she'd just said didn't sound critically urgent at all and more like a bit of a sulk.   
  
"Look," said Arthur, attempting a voice of reason, "she's been through a lot in the past few months; it'll take her some time to adjust. I'm sure she'll be back to her old self soon enough."  
  
"No, of course, I know. Absolutely, yes," Gwen said hurriedly. She flicked her eyes up at him and averted her gaze just as quickly. "But it's not just that. Her behaviour around the king... It's almost..."  
  
Arthur nodded once, encouragingly. Under the best of circumstances Gwen had a tendency to let her words knot themselves up.   
  
She bit her lip. "... Unseemly?"  
  
"What," Arthur asked slowly, "do you mean?"  
  
Gwen gestured in a vague, helpless manner. "Well, they seem a bit -- extremely -- _fond_ of each other," she said, tilting her head meaningfully.   
  
"Guinevere," Arthur interjected, a little more sharply than he intended. But if she was insinuating what he thought she was insinuating, then all the tight-voiced denial in the world wouldn't even begin to erase the horrid idea of -- the thing she was insinuating.   
  
Morgana and his father? Preposterous. Of course, he knew they loved each other, but it was in a very familial sort of way, not -- the other one. He could barely voice it to himself; the very idea of it was appalling. Morgana had come under Uther's care as a child and grown up in the Pendragon household as a part of the family, as a _daughter_ and _sister_ and -- all right, perhaps lots of people had expected Arthur and Morgana to marry some day, but that was all fanciful, useless talk, and besides, he'd got over his attraction to her a long time ago. It wasn't his fault they'd always been thrown in each other's company, and the pale, lanky, moody girl who'd arrived at their doors years ago had eventually discovered how to be downright stunning instead. And anyway that had only lasted for a bit; whatever beauty had been bestowed upon her by the gods had been cancelled out by the fact that it had no impact whatsoever on her ability to be a bossy, smug sibling who always knew, in a very loud and pushy sort of way, what was best for him. In other words, her place in the family was sealed. To imply that her affection for Uther, or vice versa, was anything more was simply ridiculous.  
  
Arthur shook his head to clear away the debris of memories and what-ifs. "Gwen, where did you hear this nonsense?" he asked, and regretted the question immediately. He knew she wasn't one for idle gossip, and even if she were, would never be so stupid as to repeat it to him.   
  
"I didn't," she said, drawing herself up slightly. Her eyes remained downcast, though he wasn't sure if she was too insulted to look at him or if her servile instincts were kicking in. "I apologise for taking up your time, my lord."  
  
As she walked out of his chambers, Arthur looked after her helplessly, wondering if he should call her back. But he knew it wouldn't do any good; she'd come to him in confidence and he'd basically accused her of slagging off his family from the outset. Besides, he wasn't sure he believed her in the first place, and they'd probably only end up arguing -- or, at least, he'd tell her she was imagining things and she'd look at him unconvinced but say, _Yes, I'm sure you're right, my lord_ anyway, because despite what tender words passed between them during the quiet moments before a battle or under the highs of victory, more often than not, they still treated each other as the rules of rank required them to do.   
  
And it might not have made a difference to Arthur's thinking, the apparent necessity to maintain appearances with Gwen, had he not had Merlin constantly tumbling through his rooms and his consciousness to throw all sense of propriety out the window. He did his chores, sure enough, and occasionally managed to toss in a 'sire' here and there in his burblings, but everything about his demeanour -- and Arthur's, coming right down to it -- suggested they were nearer to equals than anything else. Whereas with Gwen, though he'd kissed her and professed his feelings for her, the social barrier that existed between them remained as impenetrable as ever; there were a few chinks here and there, but Arthur wasn't sure it would ever fully disappear, and its near tangibility made him hold back.   
  
That, and the look on her face when Lancelot had left.   
  
He could deny it all he liked, and had done, in fact, extrapolating Gwen's concern for him into evidence that she loved him. And maybe she did, in her own way, but Arthur knew, in the dead silence of the night, when his thoughts were most ruthless and lucid, that her heart was never fully in it because Lancelot had taken it away with him.   
  
Letting that realisation take shape stung like failure and fissured his pride, so he shoved it aside, shoring hope and happy memories up against it. Some days it worked better than others.  
  
Dropping into a chair, Arthur scrubbed a weary palm over his face, and then stood up again, abruptly. No good would come of sitting alone in his chambers and wallowing in a stew of doubt and fears. So he set out with no destination in mind, trailing through the corridors, fingers absently tapping the stonework and smoothing over embroidery whenever they encountered the occasional tapestry. Eventually his feet planted him underneath the 'Court Physician' sign, and Arthur considered it for a moment before following its directions to Gaius' quarters, knocking politely at the door and forgetting why he'd needed a distraction in the first place when Merlin, smiling, let him in.   


* * *

  
  
Morgana opened her chamber doors to the sight of Leon conversing with Hector, the guard who relieved Leon at night ever since Uther deemed it necessary to keep Morgana under lock and key. Worry lines creased Leon's face, noticeable even in the dim candlelight, and Morgana wondered vaguely if she had anything to do with their appearance, her gut churning at the idea of causing him any sort of added stress. Two pairs of eyes turned to cast questioning glances in Morgana's direction, and she smiled contritely at them in response.  
  
"Sir Leon, may I speak with you for a moment?"  
  
He turned his gaze upon her, entreating, searching her expression for any outward signs of explanation, seeking out hidden meaning that he no doubt was beginning to be able to recognise with the amount of time they spent with one another as of late.  
  
"Of course," he said, allowing Morgana to curl a hand around his arm and lead him away from Hector, out of earshot.  
  
She wasted no time in reaching her point. "I need you to take me down to see the boy."  
  
Confusion tinged his features. "The boy that was just sentenced to death for sorcery?" he asked, voice low.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Several questions bounced around at the back of his mind; she could see it behind his ever expressive eyes. "Are you sure that's the best idea, Morgana?"  
  
There was obvious concern in his tone, and with anybody else, she might have taken offence at the implication that she was fragile, weak, incapable of handling such a mundane task as going to visit a prisoner in the dungeons. But somehow, with Leon, his apprehension read as earnest regard for her well-being, and she knew without even needing to have the conversation that in spite of this, he would not turn down her request.  
  
"The boy is alone and probably frightened. There is nothing I can do to help him, but if there is any way I can assuage his fears, I'd like to try," Morgana said, her fingers squeezing his wrist. She cast her gaze towards the floor, studying her feet. "I know what it is to feel alone and helpless, and if I can offer him even a bit of comfort, I don't know how I can possibly ignore that."  
  
Leon shifted on the spot anxiously, turning to glance back at Hector. "I'm supposed to be off-duty now. Perhaps Sir Hector could accompany you there in my stead?"  
  
"No, I would rather not go with Hector," Morgana said, forceful beyond what was strictly necessary. The reality was that she had no valid reason to reject the suggestion, and in fact, it was ridiculous to even request that Leon join her when he was supposed to retire for the evening. And yet, the simple fact of the matter was that Morgana didn't want Hector to accompany her because he wasn't Leon. She _trusted_ Leon, as much as Morgana could permit herself to trust anyone these days.   
  
"What I mean to say is that I would prefer if you accompanied me to the dungeons." Morgana bit her lip thoughtfully. "I know that you no longer have a duty to me at this hour, and I apologise for attempting to infringe on your personal time, but I promise you that I won't be long." A pause. " _Please_ , Leon." Her grip loosened around his wrist, and Morgana slid her fingers down until she was holding his hand in hers.  
  
Leon's eyes darted down to their joined hands, then snapped back up, uncertainty playing across his features. It was hard to tell under the muted lighting, but his skin held a pink tinge to it, and she wondered idly if he was flushing.  
  
"You know that none of those things are important, that I'm always available to you," he said softly.  
  
He gently released his hand from her grasp and strode over to Hector, speaking in soft tones for several moments, before turning back to Morgana, indicating for her to follow him down the corridor.  
  
The journey to the dungeons was a largely silent affair, Morgana sticking closer to Leon than propriety dictated, but some of the anxiety and frustration twisting in her gut stilled at his quiet, unassuming presence.  
  
It came as no surprise to learn that the boy had exhausted himself from sobbing uncontrollably for the past several hours, to the point where he was barely lucid when she arrived. Curled up in a corner of the cell, he looked positively wretched -- skin deathly pale, cheeks hollow, eyes swollen, with tear tracks staining his face. The sight ate at Morgana's conscience and she felt ill at the vision of the young life that was to be extinguished so soon. She longed to reassure him, longed to help him escape, longed to take away some of the horror that must have been wracking his mind and body. But the sad reality was that there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say to ease his pain or prevent his death. All she could offer him was a kindness and an assurance that things would not always be this way, though it was an empty gesture at best.  
  
Leon stood just outside the cell, hovering in a way that seemed almost protective. He also effectively kept the rest of the guards at bay, giving her and the boy some privacy, for which she couldn't have been more grateful. She was only able to spend about five minutes with him before it became obvious that he needed some sleep, and she felt like her words had been useless. Still, he had requested that she pass along a message to his family, and with tear-filled eyes Morgana silently nodded her agreement.  
  
As they walked away from his cell, Morgana swallowed the sorrow and anger she felt, pushing it down until they were a safe distance from the dungeons.   
  
"It's not fair. He's merely a young boy. His only crime was trying to heal his sister and now the family has lost another child," Morgana said, once they were free from the watchful eyes and ears of the dungeon guards, biting back the venomous tone attempting to claw its way into her voice. She trusted Leon, but had enough sense to recognise that she was venturing into treasonous territory by starting up this conversation in the first place. Morgana knew it would serve her well to remember that there were still boundaries to maintain, and permitting even a small amount of her disgust with Uther's philosophy on magic had the potential to unleash a whirlwind of trouble, if she wasn't careful.  
  
Leon was quiet for quite some time, and then, "There is nothing worse than losing a family member." There was sadness there, beyond mere sympathy for the boy and his kin.  
  
Morgana slowed her pace, brow furrowing. "You sound as if-- well, you sound as though you speak from experience," she said slowly, carefully, watching him for a reaction.  
  
The suddenness with which he halted took Morgana by surprise, and she had to step to the side to prevent herself from running headlong into his shoulder. Leon turned to face her, lips pressed together in a straight line, expression guarded. "I lost my brother when I was just a boy myself," Leon admitted.  
  
A hand flew to her mouth in surprise. "I'm so sorry." She stared up at him, and for the first time was struck with the knowledge that she couldn't figure out what was going through his mind; Leon was usually so open, so easy to read.  
  
"It's all right. It was a long time ago," he said, smiling lightly. It didn't quite reach his eyes.  
  
"That doesn't make the pain go away entirely, though," Morgana pointed out. She reached out to touch his arm, offering both her sympathy and understanding. "My father died more than ten years ago and I still miss him."  
  
"It's something that never quite leaves you," he agreed.  
  
Morgana allowed her hand to fall back to her side. She bit her lip. "May I ask... what happened to your brother?"  
  
He stared at her blankly for a moment, as though lost in his own thoughts, before nodding. "He was murdered when I was twelve years old, coming home from the local pub. Two thieves tried to rob him, but when they realised he didn't have any coins, they decided to kill him instead."  
  
"Oh, Leon, that's awful. Were they ever caught?"  
  
Shaking his head, Leon released a soft sigh. "No. I mean, we had an idea of who they were, but there was no evidence, and so we couldn't do anything. I haven't seen either man since that day."  
  
Biting back an entirely different kind of fury, Morgana frowned. "That must have been so difficult for your family. How do you deal with the anger and injustice of it all?"   
  
He blinked, looking genuinely baffled by her comment. "I don't," he said, voice soft.   
  
Now Morgana was confused. "You don't deal with it?"  
  
"No, I meant that I don't have to deal with the anger, because I don't feel it any longer," he clarified.  
  
"I don't understand." Truly she didn't. How could Leon know his brother had been murdered, be aware of who was responsible, and not be filled with rage?  
  
One of Leon's hands rose to tangle briefly in his hair, eyes softening almost instantly. "Of course I was devastated by my brother's death. How could I not be? He was my hero and I looked up to him. In fact, he'd been training to become a knight, wanted to serve and protect the people of Camelot. It was his true aspiration in life." Morgana smiled softly in spite of herself. She could see the pride and love in Leon's eyes and it warmed her heart, even though she knew the story didn't have a happy ending.  
  
"I spent several years rebelling, following Henry's death," Leon carried on. "If there was trouble to be found, it could be guaranteed that I was at the centre of it."  
  
"Somehow I can't exactly picture you as a trouble-maker," Morgana said with a small laugh, tilting her head to the side and studying him with careful fascination. It was a bizarre feeling, slowly getting to know someone again. She and Leon had spent countless hours together over the past couple of weeks, but each time she learned something new about him, it felt almost like she was being handed a precious gift. Especially with something so personal as speaking of a murdered loved one. She highly suspected that this was not the sort of story he shared with just anyone, and she was touched at his openness with her.  
  
His grin was so bright it lit up the hall they stood in. "You'd be surprised. I have a bit of a mischievous streak." And then he winked at her.   
  
Something in his tone -- or perhaps it was the way he was looking at her -- caused Morgana's stomach to flip for just a moment. Shaking her head as though to clear it of stray thoughts, she smiled up at him. "I'll keep that in mind," she said. Then, remembering the point of their conversation, "So, what happened?"  
  
The grin evaporated from his face, and Morgana was suddenly regretful that she'd pulled him back into these obviously painful memories once more. "I don't know, exactly. I managed to cause my parents great amounts of stress for a few years, and then one day I just decided that this wasn't how I wanted to live my life. It certainly wouldn't have made my brother proud. So I just gave up all the anger and the hurt and I made the choice to accept that this was how things were, that no amount of rebelling or revenge would bring me any peace."  
  
This time it was Morgana's turn to blink at him in disbelief. "You just suddenly stopped being angry? You forgave the men who killed your brother?" She didn't mean it to sound like an accusation, but in the end, that was how it came across.  
  
"Mm, forgiveness... I think I'm still sorting through that one, but I feel as though I've made peace with them in my own way." His gaze shifted to a spot on the wall over Morgana's shoulder, before he turned earnest eyes back to her. "As for the fury at my brother's loss, if there was one thing I learned, it was that it takes so much more time and energy to hate, to be filled with rage, than to forgive and to move on."  
  
Forgiveness. The word, that _concept_ seemed alien to her, and yet she could hear the conviction in his tone. He truly believed what he was saying, and she found herself almost unconsciously desiring to understand how it was that this man had been able to put aside his anger and sorrow to be able to forgive such an atrocity. She was no stranger to the idea of seeking retribution, of holding onto anger until it wrapped her in a chokehold, but if there was one thing she could say about Leon, it was that he was a man of great courage and conviction. Uther deserved what was coming to him, and yet... she felt drawn to try and comprehend how Leon had been able to deal with his brother's death and become the person he was today.  
  
"How do you do that?" Morgana asked softly, curiously.  
  
Silence reigned between them as Leon deeply contemplated her question. When he finally spoke, it was with deliberation and care, as though he were tailoring his words specifically for her. "It wasn't easy; some days it still isn't. But those first couple of years after Henry died, the only thing I thought about was seeking revenge, causing trouble, making every attempt to spread my anger to everyone I knew. I was consumed by it, and before I knew it, I'd managed to push away everyone that cared about me. My brother was a good person, and had the respect of everyone who had the pleasure of knowing him. One night, almost three years after he died, I had a dream in which Henry spoke to me, and he told me to stop behaving how I was, and to put aside my anger... to forgive the men who'd killed him, not for his sake but for my own."  
  
Somewhere along the line, they had started walking again, slowly, down the corridor, though Morgana was only just realising this fact. "So a dream was what changed your mind in the end?"  
  
Leon shook his head. "No, not exactly. I mean, I knew it was just a dream, but he still had a point. So I made the decision to forgive, to let go of my anger, and to stop trying to make everyone around me as miserable as I was." He smiled ruefully. "It wasn't easy. But now I look at my life and I'm so grateful that I don't have to carry that burden any longer. When I was still angry, it was all I thought about, and those thoughts controlled my life."  
  
He couldn't possibly know what she was planning, the kind of pain and fury that was burning in her veins, and yet, he spoke with such an intimate understanding that she felt another layer of connectedness to him, even though they'd chosen different paths.  
  
They arrived outside her chambers then, before Morgana could ask any follow-up questions. But something felt final about the conversation, and she was all right with that knowledge.  
  
"Thank you for your kindness," she said, lingering in front of her door without attempting to actually move.  
  
He smiled warmly. "You're welcome, Morgana."  
  
Had Hector not been standing a mere few feet away from them, she might have pressed a kiss to Leon's cheek. But as it was, Hector remained, and so she settled for a warm smile instead. And as she closed the door on Leon's retreating form, she couldn't stop thinking of the condemned boy, or prevent the thought _'what if there's another way?'_ from tumbling around in her mind, slumber finally arriving hours later when she was too tired to think any longer.


	9. Chapter 9

For daring to question his father's authority in front of the whole court, this was his punishment -- his royal presence not only officially requested at the beheading, but physically escorted there by a three-man retinue. Arthur kept his fingers locked behind his back, lest they should try to make a break for the executioner's axe and run away with it; that would be as useless as attempting to influence Uther's closed mind, it would only put a temporary halt to the proceedings, and then Uther would probably force first-hand decapitation experience on him for being insolent.   
  
Below, the assembled crowd droned in an indistinct, collective murmur as the prisoner was led -- practically _carried_ \-- to the platform; he sank to his knees without prompting and rested his chin on the block. The executioner adjusted his hood.   
  
Unconsciously, Arthur's hand crept to the back of his own neck; he remembered the adrenaline pumping through his veins, chased by quiet resignation, when he'd chosen to honour his word to Morgause and offer himself to her axe and mercy. He remembered the curve of the wooden block, carved and smoothed to a perfect angle, and Merlin shouting at him, and the apology he'd composed silently in his head to nobody in particular and everyone he loved.   
  
There had been no drums then as there were now, a steady countdown setting a base rhythm to the racing beat of his own heart. There had been a choice then as there wasn't now, just a heavy air of inevitability that made Arthur want to sigh and rage at the same time.   
  
Uther raised his arm, slicing the crowd into silence. In perfect, practised succession, his arm flagged a final drumbeat to resound across the courtyard, and the axe flashed.   
  
His face could betray nothing, but Arthur's insides clenched at the sight, another warning to those in defiance of Camelot's rule, another waste. Standing before the balustrade, Uther addressed his gathered subjects, some of whom were still staring at the blood and the body, but Arthur, seizing the earliest opportunity to get away, slipped back into the castle, frustration following him like a shadow.   
  
He was, however, grateful for the small favour Merlin had granted him in acceding to his wishes earlier that morning to stay behind in the royal chambers and take care of chores that Arthur had largely invented. It hadn't escaped his notice that Uther's pronouncement of the young boy's death a few days earlier had made Merlin look as though he might be sick; given Merlin's aversion to killing for sport under normal circumstances, and the recent, sad fragility that tinged his every movement, it was clear that he needed much less serious things to occupy his mind, if only for a little while.   
  
Not, of course, that the complete and proper care of every single piece of clothing Arthur owned was a frivolous matter.   
  
Arthur strode into his chambers, injecting his voice with a probably unhealthy dose of jocularity. "Well, now, Merlin," he said, eyeing his manservant sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the wrinkled contents of Arthur's wardrobe. At Merlin's feet, a small scatter of needles and a rainbow of threads spilled from a little basket. "Hard at work, I see?"  
  
"As I was told," said Merlin, inspecting a hem closely. "Though I still haven't found the shirt you wanted mended."  
  
"Oh," said Arthur airily. "Forget it, then."  
  
Merlin raised a baleful eyebrow. "This morning you told me one of your sleeves had a little tear in it and princes couldn't go around wearing tatters and I was to fix it straight away. Even though you couldn't remember _which shirt it was_ ," he said, in a tone so pointed Arthur nearly had to dance out of the way of being stabbed.  
  
As if it was Arthur's fault that the gods and seamstresses had blessed him so kindly with myriad tunics to last him through old age and beyond. Although, perhaps, _I think it's a red one that's got mangled, Merlin; no, maybe blue -- actually, possibly brown, and why don't you just check all of them?_ may have been a tad much.   
  
"Yes, well, on second thoughts," said Arthur, rallying, "princes of my calibre can also afford to buy up all of Camelot's linen industry, so one tear probably isn't going to ruin me."  
  
Merlin's mouth twisted to the side as he considered the jumble of clothing in front of him. "Would it be a lot to ask for you to have your epiphanies a bit quicker next time?"  
  
Careful to maintain a casual air, Arthur toed aside some of the shirts and sat next to Merlin on the floor. He leaned against the wall just underneath a window that streamed sunlight onto Merlin's hands, absently twining a shirtsleeve around his fingers. "Possible," Arthur conceded, watching Merlin wind and unwind the cloth, "though it did look to me like you needed some busy work to get your mind off things for a while."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Why don't you tell me?"  
  
Merlin looked at a crack in the floor, frowning at it like it had done him some grave injustice. "I don't know what you mean."   
  
Arthur waved an irritable hand. "Come off it, Merlin; I'm not blind. Half the time you look as though someone's applied thumbscrews to your favourite puppy."  
  
"Dogs haven't got thumbs," he mumbled.  
  
"Oh, apply logic only when it suits you?"  
  
Merlin shrugged helplessly. "Take it up with Mother Nature if you're not satisfied with how dogs turned out."   
  
"Look," said Arthur, putting his foot down before the conversation veered _completely_ out of hand. "I'm not going to ask you what's wrong, all right? You're only going to tell me everything's fine, even though it's obviously not and you're a _terrible_ liar."   
  
Merlin's stare was equal parts grateful and terrified.   
  
"Something's worrying you; that much is pretty clear. And if you need to work it out on your own, fine. But if you can't, just know," Arthur said slowly, deliberately, "that whatever it is, or whoever it is, you can come to me, when you're ready. And I will -- take care of it." Hearing the words assemble themselves as they came out of his mouth slightly differently than he'd envisioned, he added, "That sounded a bit like I was insinuating that I'd kill someone for you; I can't promise _that_."  
  
"I wouldn't ask you to," Merlin protested hastily.   
  
"No," said Arthur, feeling reckless. "But I'd consider it, anyway."  
  
"Arthur." There was a warning tone to his voice, the same one Arthur often ignored before bounding off to do something stupid, and over time its frequent usage had turned up a long-suffering quality at its edges.  
  
"Oh, all right," sighed Arthur, who could match long-suffering pitch for pitch. "Only the thumbscrews, then."   
  
In spite of himself, Merlin snickered.   
  
"There you are," Arthur said softly to the light flickering behind Merlin's eyes. His chest tightened at the sight; it had been a long time since he'd seen Merlin's eyes really shine, and, he suspected, it would be a long while yet before he saw it again.   
  
Checking himself, Arthur clapped Merlin on the shoulder with more force than necessary, bending him double, and heaved himself up off the floor. He straightened his clothes and rubbed his hands together, signalling the end of the conversation and the start of pretending it had never happened.   


* * *

  
  
The decision was made before she really even had time to process the recklessness of what she was doing. But it'd been nearly three weeks already, Arthur had returned from his mission, and Morgana was no closer to becoming queen than she had been before he'd even set off. Morgause would be coming to check on her progress soon, and Morgana was not going to let her down. It was time to take definitive action. Tonight was the night that she made her intentions clear, and prayed to whatever gods may be listening that all went according to plan.  
  
Throwing open her chamber doors, Morgana shot Leon a pointed look. "I need to see the king."  
  
He blinked, stared at Morgana for a fraction of a second, as though waiting for further explanation. But when none was forthcoming, he nodded his head, smiling. "Of course."  
  
They made their way down the hall in silence. It was the quietest walk they'd embarked on since the first day he'd been assigned as her personal guard, but he seemed to sense she had something on her mind, and didn't push. She was both grateful and yet also slightly disquieted, somehow. It wasn't that she wanted him to ask; she wouldn't have told him the truth anyway. But where most might have attempted conversation for the sake of simply filling the quiet void, or stood back and maintained an appropriate distance, Leon did neither, quite purposefully. It disturbed Morgana, at times, how much he seemed to truly understand how her mind worked, and she worried, now, if he somehow had figured out her scheme, or worse -- if he'd lost all respect for her. Though why it should matter either way was not a matter she wished to entertain.  
  
"You can wait out here, Leon," Morgana said, once they'd reached the throne room, throwing him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.  
  
Without waiting for a response, she shoved open the doors to the throne room and stepped over the threshold. Uther's gaze snapped up, at first in alarm, but the worry faded immediately upon sighting her.  
  
"My lord, I'm sorry for interrupting you," she said, voice unduly apologetic.  
  
But Uther shook his head, gesturing for her to enter. "Nonsense. You know I always have time for you."  
  
With a quick nod of his head, Uther dismissed the guards from the room, and they quietly made their way out, pulling the doors shut behind them.  
  
Uther pushed aside the papers that lay strewn across the table behind which he sat, indicating for her to take a seat, and Morgana found herself, quite unexpectedly, touched by the action, that he would put her above his work. However, as quickly as the sentiment arose, she forced herself to shove it back down, steeling herself for what she was about to do. There was no room for emotional attachment in this plan, and she wasn't about to start now.  
  
"What can I do for you, Morgana?"  
  
Several potential responses had floated through her mind, long before the question had even been asked, in preparation for this very moment. There were several ways the scenario could play itself out, but she was only interested in the one that inevitably helped push her plans forward. Uther was a strong man, hardened by grief and loss and the burden of running a kingdom alone for so many years, but he also had his weaknesses, one of which worked very much in Morgana's favour, and it was this vulnerability that she sought to exploit now.  
  
"It's nothing, really... It's just--" She trailed off, turning her head, as though embarrassed. Quieter, barely more than a whisper, "It's silly."  
  
Uther eyed her, concern and fondness radiating from his features in equal measure. "You know I would never think anything you had to say was silly."  
  
Morgana bit her lip, determinedly shoving down the tiny pangs gnawing at the back of her chest that felt suspiciously like guilt. "It's been good to be back, to finally be home again. I never realised how much I missed everyone. But what I've come to realise most is just how much I relied on certain people for strength and the feeling of safety." Instead of sitting, as had been offered earlier, Morgana turned her back to Uther, head bowed and shoulders slumping. "It's not easy for me to admit, but while I feel safe within these walls once again, sometimes I remember my ordeals-- And I'm filled with the urge to be near to the person who makes all those feelings disappear." She stared at a spot on the far wall, hardening her mind as she simultaneously allowed her features to soften, allowing the implications of her words to hang in the air.  
  
As predicted, the sounds of a chair scraping against the stone floor indicated that Uther was making to stand, and it came as no surprise when a gentle hand found its way to her shoulder shortly thereafter.  
  
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you, and I will live with that guilt for the rest of my life," Uther said, tugging on Morgana's arm until they stood face to face.  
  
Morgana cast her gaze upon him, eyes glistening with unshed tears which were alarmingly easy to conjure. "I know you will, but you mustn't blame yourself. The important thing is that I'm home now."  
  
"Yes. Yes, I suppose you're right," Uther agreed, voice steady but eyes distant. And then, in the next moment, Morgana found herself nearly falling into Uther's embrace, as he pulled her to him in a firm hug. Burying her face in his shoulder, she found her arms tightening around Uther's waist unconsciously, in spite of herself, soaking in some of the strength he seemed to imbue. The thought rose in the back of her mind once more, that maybe it was possible that Uther did love her just as he claimed, and Morgana searched through her memories for an instance where he'd been awful, if only to reassure herself that she was still doing the right thing. But the reality was all too clear. Uther may claim to love her, but he would have her executed were he ever to discover the extent of her magical abilities, and she clung to this truth as desperately as a starving man to his last scrap of food.  
  
"I feel the safest when I'm around you," Morgana said, when Uther pulled away from her, ducking her head briefly as though she hadn't meant for those words to slip past her lips.  
  
Before she could talk herself out of the action, Morgana leaned forward and pressed her mouth to Uther's. It was chaste, soft, barely the touch of lips, and yet she instantly felt the hesitation in his body as Uther's muscles seemed to tense simultaneously. She reached up to press a palm against his neck, fingers dancing around the edges of his fringe. Uther had yet to respond to her advances in any way, frozen to the spot by either fear or shock, but on the other hand, he also hadn't shoved her away just yet, and for that, Morgana felt a small sense of satisfaction. Perhaps this hadn't been the worst plan. Maybe, just maybe, he'd even begun to fall for her in the way she'd been anticipating since her return to Camelot.  
  
Unfortunately fate had a sick sense of humour, and there was no way of determining the results of her weeks of slow seduction, as the door to the hall suddenly burst open, forcing the charade to an abrupt halt with simultaneous gasps from the intruders.  
  
"What on _earth_ is going on here?" a voice demanded, and Morgana didn't need to look to know to whom it belonged.  
  
Uther wrenched away from her first, hands clutching both arms in a white-knuckled embrace ( _when had that happened?_ ) as they both turned, as one, to face not only Arthur, but Leon as well. Their matching looks of shock and confusion might almost have been comical, had this been a dream. Or perhaps another situation in which she was merely an observer and not actively involved. As it was, however, that was not the case, and Morgana felt something like embarrassment, and perhaps even a small twinge of guilt, well up inside her, grabbing at her conscience with a chokehold.  
  
"This is not--" Uther swallowed, taking half a step away from Morgana. "--not what it looks like."  
  
Arthur's eyes narrowed, gaze shifting back and forth between them, filled with suspicion and uncertainty. "So you two _weren't_ just kissing then?" he asked slowly, a single finger drawing a line in the air through the space between Uther and Morgana.  
  
"No. Well, yes. But as I say, this isn't what it appears to be," Uther said, sounding far more in control than Morgana would've anticipated. However, she was glad to let him handle this unexpected invasion, her own cheeks flushed a deep red, and she found she couldn't quite meet either Arthur _or_ Leon's eyes... couldn't bear to see what was written in their expressions.  
  
"Funny. I'm having a hard time trying to figure out what other explanation there possibly could be."  
  
Arthur's indictment hung in the air, unchallenged, and Morgana, finally finding the courage to turn her eyes to him, could see a rash of emotions fly across his face before colliding into nothingness. Abruptly, he spun on his heel and marched out of the room; that he hadn't the wherewithal to deal with any of this right now was clear, a propensity for denial one of the many traits he'd inherited from his father.  
  
But even as his footsteps faded, each rang with accusation, and it was too much to bear in the wide silence of the throne room, where Uther stood rooted to the floor, staring, and Leon plastered himself against one wall, out of place and with no leave to stay or go. Morgana fled the room.  


* * *

  
  
She was being a coward, and she knew it. The shame of it gnawed at her, but still it was preferable to the judgment she'd felt boring into her back as she'd run from the throne room, and if she never felt that burn again it would be too soon.   
  
Impatient, she'd overplayed her hand with Uther, and now she was probably right back where she'd started with this whole improbable plan. Or possibly even farther back than that, considering that she couldn't face looking Uther straight in the eye again. For the moment she couldn't even remember why she'd thought it such a clever scheme to begin with, or why Morgause let her go through with it, or what kind of thrill she was supposed to get from weakening the king.   
  
Things weren't supposed to be like this. There wasn't supposed to be room in her heart for guilt or regret or exception. And there certainly wasn't any good reason why the sting of failure should feel so much less painful than the violent twist of her stomach every time she thought of Arthur and Leon witnessing what they had.   
  
Conflicting emotions came at her from all sides -- she wanted to take back everything she'd done; she wanted to regroup and focus on how she could move things forwards with Uther and take him down; she wanted to hide in her room until it all blew over. But, eventually, clawing its way through to the top was the desperate urge to make things right with Arthur; she needed him on her side.   
  
She found him in his chambers, loitering sullenly amidst debris that had no doubt been thrown in a fit of temper. "Arthur," she said, shutting the door behind her.   
  
He shot her a glare.  
  
"Look, it wasn't --"  
  
"What? _It wasn't what it looked like?_ So I've been told," Arthur said sourly.  
  
"It's really not what you think." Which, technically, was true; it was only what she'd _wanted_ him and everyone else to think, although, had she had the choice, the timing of his discovery would have been significantly different. Twenty years from now, for instance.   
  
"It's not what I think," Arthur parroted slowly, his aptitude for sarcasm truly outstanding. "What am I to think, then? Did you trip and fall onto his face? Or did a snake bite him on the mouth, and you were only trying to be helpful and suck the poison out? Am I anywhere close?"  
  
"Arthur, you're being ridiculous."  
  
"Are you sure you haven't got me confused with _you?_ "  
  
Morgana drew herself up, trying to look in control of the conversation. She'd always known this would happen sooner or later; after all, wresting control of the kingdom from under Uther's nose wasn't exactly the sort of thing that would escape notice. But Arthur was difficult to anticipate and difficult to handle; there were times when he seemed to have an endless reservoir of calm wisdom, accepting and adapting to challenges as they came, and others when he dug his heels in like a little boy, never satisfied with any explanation as long as he could tack on a _but why?_ at the end of it.   
  
"It just _happened_ , all right?" Morgana said. She took in a breath; she didn't _want_ to keep lying to him, but telling him the truth was even less of an option. "I -- You don't know how hard it's been for me these past few months, and even now that I'm back. Uther... He makes me feel safe. I can't explain it any more than that."  
  
Arthur's expression softened, but he shook his head. "You _are_ safe here. You have _me_ , and Sir Leon and every knight of Camelot at your disposal."   
  
"You just don't understand."  
  
"No, I really don't. Please, enlighten me. Because from where I'm standing, this is madness. He's old enough to be your father. He practically _is_ your father!"   
  
"Right," said Morgana slowly. Appealing to Arthur's better nature was obviously getting her nowhere. She cocked an eyebrow. "Well, forgive me if I'm not exactly eager to take romantic advice from someone who's proposed marriage to two women in as many years after knowing them for approximately, what, an hour?"  
  
Blindsided, Arthur took a step backwards. "What? What are you talking about?"  
  
Morgana's laugh was brittle. "Sophia and Vivian? Don't tell me you've forgotten them already."  
  
"Of course I haven't," Arthur protested, straightening as though about to launch into an impassioned explanation, but he stopped himself and narrowed his gaze at her. "Where is this coming from? That has nothing to do with anything."  
  
"Come off it, Arthur. Just because you're emotionally stunted doesn't mean the rest of us have to be."  
  
" _Emotionally stunted?_ "  
  
"Yes," she hissed. "Need I mention again your grand plan to elope? And what of Gwen?"  
  
Arthur looked completely perplexed now. "What about Gwen?"  
  
The thread of the conversation was sprinting away from him now, and truth be told, Morgana didn't even fully understand half the things she was saying even as she said them, but the important thing was to keep Arthur distracted, confused, and entirely off the point. It probably wouldn't keep him off her back for very long, but for now she'd buy any time she could get. Whatever ended up being her next step with Uther, it would be made far less complicated if she didn't have to deal with a petulant prince at the same time.  
  
"That's exactly what I'm talking about," she said. "You don't even know there's a problem."  
  
"Oh," Arthur said, lifting up an interrupting finger, "I _know_ there's a problem." His brow furrowed as soon as the words left his mouth, unsure what he'd just admitted to in his haste for one-upmanship.   
  
"Oh, do you?" Morgana said, heavy encouragement in her voice. "Do tell?"  
  
He hesitated.   
  
She patted his arm in the most patronising manner she could achieve. "Let me help. You've been making eyes at her for a year now, but you won't commit to anything."  
  
"It's complicated," Arthur said, averting his gaze.  
  
Morgana scoffed. "No, it isn't. Either you truly love her or you don't. And if you don't, which I suspect is the case, then you'd do well to stop leading her on. She's not somebody you can just pull on a string whenever you feel like it."   
  
"Which you suspect is the case?" Arthur repeated. "Just what is that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Gwen thinks you're in love with someone else. I'd say that's pretty telling, wouldn't you?"  
  
Arthur levelled a condescending glare at her. "There isn't anyone else. Who could I possibly be in love with?"  
  
She almost missed it. He probably didn't know he'd even done it. But just like that, pieces she never even knew had been missing fell perfectly into place. Who could he possibly be in love with, indeed? His eyes had flicked, on those words, towards the antechamber where Merlin sometimes slept when Arthur was ill or feeling particularly demanding, and Morgana felt leverage anchor firmly at her feet.   
  
It was suddenly so obvious she couldn't believe she'd never realised it before. She'd always known, rather abstractly, that mere coincidence couldn't account for Arthur growing so quickly out of his aimless arrogance and into someone she'd one day be proud to call her king; Merlin's arrival at Camelot had actively precipitated it. But beyond the deep loyalty and friendly repartee, she hadn't recognised the undercurrent that ran silently across their interactions for what it was. And with this tiny, unconscious action on Arthur's part, it all became clear now; the looks they shared, the way they tilted every expectation of the master-servant relationship on its head, the unwavering devotion that even the worst of insults couldn't mask -- they all spoke to one thing.   
  
"Does he know?" she asked.   
  
"Who? Know what?"  
  
"Merlin," she practically purred. "Does he know?"  
  
"What, that you've gone off the deep end? No, I don't believe so, Morgana, but I'll be sure to make a point of telling him."  
  
She smiled, pityingly, and leaned forward. "Does he know, _Arthur_ , that you're in love with him?"  
  
There was a great deal of indignant sputtering to be endured before Arthur pulled himself together, eyeing her with disbelief when he realised she was waiting for a real answer. "Merlin? _Merlin?_ You mean my manservant? Merlin? Who can't follow orders or do anything right to save his life?"  
  
Morgana shrugged nonchalantly, even as some inward part of her triumphed at having zeroed in on the perfect way to divert Arthur's attention. "Well, why should he bother when you've proven time and again that you're obviously more than willing to give yours for his?"  
  
"That's-- He's--" Arthur struggled, apparently finding this insouciant remark more than a little difficult to face head-on. Considering it had taken her this long to see it, she wasn't surprised that Arthur himself had never seriously contemplated the implications of his own regard for Merlin. After a few more false starts, he settled vaguely on, "He's done a great deal for me. His loyalty deserves mine in return."  
  
"I don't see you sticking your neck out like that for someone like Leon. Or any other knight," she appended.   
  
Arthur huffed irritably. "That's because they're perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. Merlin -- Merlin's useless."  
  
Morgana glanced at him sharply, a sudden spark of recognition triggered in her memory banks. "Is he?"  
  
"We _are_ talking about the same Merlin, aren't we?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.   
  
"Yes, of course. The one you're in love with," she replied.   
  
Her tone was tart, and the way Arthur's face flushed red suggested that she'd managed to hit the right nerve again, but she couldn't concentrate fully on that little victory when her mind was racing with the significance of Arthur's remarks. He _did_ think Merlin was useless. But Merlin very much wasn't; she'd seen proof of it herself. Which meant that either Arthur knew nothing of Merlin's magic -- perhaps deliberately -- or that he was keeping Merlin's secret for him.   
  
Arthur glared. "Will you stop saying that? No one's in love with Merlin, least of all me."  
  
"Yes," Morgana said, barely suppressing a grin, "you keep telling yourself that, Arthur."  
  
If she had to guess whether Arthur simply didn't understand his own feelings, or was refusing to understand them, or was playing dumb, she'd toss out the final option first. Arthur was good at a lot of things, but being purposefully and effectively misleading was not one of them; one of his great traits and downfalls was that he often kept his heart right on his sleeve, and there wasn't a shadow of a doubt in her mind now of what place Merlin held in Arthur's esteem.   
  
And perhaps more importantly, she now had exactly what she needed to lord over Merlin's head to keep him quiet and compliant. She almost admired him for being able to deceive Arthur for so long; clearly, none of them ever really knew Merlin at all.   
  
Arthur opened his mouth to protest some more, but there was a short knock at the door, and Merlin stuck his head in. He looked surprised to see Morgana there, but pulled his attention from her, addressing Arthur instead.   
  
"The king wants to see you," Merlin said, obviously uncomfortable in the present company.   
  
A frown crossed Arthur's mouth, but he strode to the door anyway. He stopped short, just as he passed Merlin, and turned to Morgana, raising a finger in warning. "We never had this conversation," he said, and walked out, his footsteps dragging down the hallway.   
  
Before Merlin could follow suit, Morgana grasped him by the arm and held him back. "Maybe. But _this_ conversation, Merlin, is definitely happening."


	10. Chapter 10

Arthur made his way down the corridors with a hesitance to his step, mind racing with so many thoughts that it forced an unconscious deliberation to his movements. In a way, Arthur was grateful for the interruption Merlin had provided. It wasn't so much that he wanted to speak with his father, who would no doubt seek to reassure Arthur that his intimate moment with Morgana was nothing more than a gross misunderstanding, as he was struck with the sudden and overwhelming urge to get away from Morgana and her accusations _right that very second._ As it was, he was still actively working out how to erase the memory of his father and Morgana -- doing... what they'd been doing -- from his mind. Now, on top of that, he had the added burden of trying to interpret and process her ramblings, which may or may not have been entirely out of line.  
  
Uther and his platitudes could wait, as far as Arthur was concerned. It was an attempt to mollify Uther's own guilty conscience as much as an effort to put Arthur's mind at ease, but at the moment Arthur had other far more pressing matters occupying his mind. In the blink of an eye, all of his fury had been upended, spun one hundred and eighty degrees, landing squarely in the tiny -- though ever expanding -- part of Arthur's brain he privately thought of as uncharted territory. It was the place, the little fragment of his heart and mind, where Arthur stored the thoughts and feelings he didn't particularly care to examine or dwell on further, shoved some place deep within him, never to see the light of day.  
  
For the most part, he managed to keep those thoughts locked away, hidden from even his own conscious consideration. But of course, no hiding place was without a key and keyhole to provide entrance. Much as he hated to acknowledge the fact, there were a select few people in Arthur's life who happened to stumble upon the key, whether by accident or with calculated determination, shoving it at him with just the right amount of force to unseal those things he sought to keep hidden. In this particular situation, one small imputation, uttered in the throes of a heated argument as means of distraction, had pierced the fortress, clicking perfectly in place to unlock the thoughts and feelings and fears pouring freely into his mind for analysis.  
  
_Does he know, Arthur, that you're in love with him?_ Morgana's voice continued to mock him, equal parts accusation and amusement, running in a continuous cycle through his brain, making him dizzy with the implication of it all.  
  
The allegation made his stomach churn, twisting with a sick feeling that pooled deep in his belly, not because it was true, but because it wasn't altogether _untrue_. Arthur would be remiss to deny that there was something there, lurking just below the surface, between him and Merlin, significant and intense and, in many ways, all-encompassing, though Arthur was hesitant to put a name to it, reluctant to define anything. From the first moment he'd laid eyes on Merlin, Arthur knew there was something different -- something _unique_ \-- about him, but at the time he hadn't given the thought much regard. And then, without warning, Merlin was thrown into Arthur's life in the most intimate and intrusive of manners. The fumbling, clumsy oaf was reluctantly forced into the role of manservant to the prince, and much to Arthur's surprise, he somehow managed to dig a hole under Arthur's defences, and arrive comfortably on the other side, before Arthur was even aware that anything had really changed at all.  
  
It had been a terrifying revelation at the time, when Arthur realised just how willing he was to risk his life to protect Merlin's. He'd spent his life surrounded by people who swore their undying loyalty and allegiance to him, as a prince, and to Camelot. Never before, though, had Arthur been on the other side of that equation, experiencing the same level of devotion that those around him displayed on a daily basis, and for a servant, no less. Still, their unlikely partnership had blossomed into something more, and after a while Arthur had finally admitted to himself that Merlin was his friend, might possibly have been the only true friend he'd ever had, even if he'd never expressly uttered the sentiment aloud.  
  
But it was here, at the claim that Arthur was _in love_ with Merlin, that his blood ran cold and his breath hitched in his throat. It was not lost on Arthur, the significance of his dreams, or the actions he'd taken in the woods that day not so long ago, cock hard and skin longing for Merlin's touch. He would be lying to himself if he claimed that he'd never had improper thoughts about Merlin prior to the incident, or that he hadn't thought of that particular occurrence since. The reality was that the memory invaded his mind on a daily basis, stabbing and slicing through his defences until he found something to distract himself, or shoved a hand into his breeches and eliminated the tension, if he was lucky enough to have a spare moment to do so, which more often than not was not the case.  
  
Still, no matter the reasons for his burgeoning interest in Merlin, the truth was that nothing could ever happen between them. Even putting aside their difference in rank and class, as well as the fact that Merlin was also male -- both of which would make any union between them highly inappropriate, though not impossible -- Arthur wasn't willing to risk losing him. On any given day, people bustled in and out of a prince's life -- castle servants, visiting nobles and royalty, peasants seeking council to air grievances or settle disputes, even knights came and went, or were killed in battle. It was a reality that steeled hearts and kept emotional attachment at an arm's length, because it served no one's benefit to spend time and energy on people who flitted in and out before any connection could even be made in the first place.  
  
And it was in this way, yet again, Merlin differed from all the others, because he was Arthur's constant companion, reliable and loyal and always _present_. Present through the royal visits, the council meetings, the battles and wars, hunting trips and patrols, and present through the mundane, routine activities of daily life. He was there with his lopsided grin, funny ears, cheeky comments, and steadfast friendship. Arthur didn't keep Merlin around as a servant because he was skilled at clearing away clutter, or removing dust from his mantle, or shining his boots properly. Arthur kept Merlin as his servant because he was daring enough to challenge Arthur's beliefs and perspectives, even when he had no desire to confront any of those things. He would complain about doing the laundry or preparing a hot bath late in the evening, but would conversely stay up until the early morning hours before a tournament, sharpening Arthur's sword or mending the armour that would keep him from harm. Merlin trusted, defended, supported, challenged, encouraged, respected. Never before had Arthur had someone like Merlin in his life, and the idea of potentially risking it all sat heavy in Arthur's belly like a lead weight.   
  
The reality was that Morgana was not entirely incorrect, not entirely misguided, and while Arthur was not yet willing to concede anything, he was also unequivocally aware that he could no longer deny his attraction to Merlin either. For a moment, he longed for the days of old, when a servant was merely a servant and he wasn't forced to contemplate their role or significance in his life. Yet, there were also times when Arthur forgot that things had been different before Merlin, forgot what it was like to hear "sire" and be treated with the deference that was due, and strangely enough, he desired nothing more than for things to stay as they were right now.  
  
Reaching up, Arthur scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling the first signs of the afternoon's stress building behind his eye sockets, and just barely avoided a head-on collision with Gwen.  
  
"Oh, sire, I'm sorry. I didn't even notice you coming around the corner," she said, smiling in her typically exuberant and apologetic manner as she attempted to balance a basket of laundry, rather unsuccessfully, on her right hip.   
  
"It's no bother, Gwen," he said, dredging up a half-smile in the hopes of dissuading her from asking any questions of him.  
  
Unfortunately, his airy comment wasn't convincing enough, however, as her features pulled down into a concerned frown upon seeing Arthur's face. He could only imagine what he looked like at the moment, and actively attempted to school his features to hide any of the distress he was experiencing. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Um, well..." He wasn't sure what to say to Gwen, exactly, especially given the nature with which he'd dismissed her earlier concerns as being little more than idle speculation. Still, he owed it to her to be honest, especially given the risk she'd taken in coming to him in the first place. Several times, Arthur attempted to form the words, mouth open and poised to speak, but at the last second he felt his courage wane. There was no easy way of sharing such _delicate_ information, but word spread quickly in the castle, and there was no doubt that Gwen would find out one way or another, whether through him or other, more questionable means.  
  
"I'm sure you'll hear about this eventually," he sighed, then cast a quick glance around to ensure there were no interlopers lurking about. The corridors were empty, but he dropped his voice anyway, leaning in closer. "But I think I may have been, er, too _hasty_ in my dismissal of your concerns the last time we spoke."  
  
Gwen blinked at him, clearly not following what he was trying to vaguely imply. "I'm sorry?"  
  
Something like irritation settled in his chest, then, though it wasn't aimed in Gwen's direction. It occurred to Arthur in that moment that the responsibility for damage control would rest solely on his shoulders if this information did, somehow, manage to make its way into the serving quarters, and he felt frustration bubble up at the fact that his father and Morgana were placing him in this situation at all. The entire thing was nothing short of completely ludicrous. "Well, it's just that... your concerns in regards to Morgana. And my father--"  
  
There was a pregnant pause that followed his half-sentence, left to hang unfinished as Arthur fought against his desire to recoil from this conversation entirely.  
  
"What about them, sire?" Gwen asked, finally, when it became clear that there was to be no end to Arthur's statement.  
  
"I needed to speak with my father, and I walked in on the two of them together." He swallowed, finding that he couldn't quite meet her gaze. "They were kissing."  
  
Her eyes widened into two round saucers, and a hand flew to instinctively cover her mouth. "You mean---" Gwen waved her hand around, as though that could somehow replace the words she was clearly struggling to form. " _Kissing_ , kissing?"  
  
He might have laughed, in different circumstances, at her words. But that would've been inappropriate, given the serious nature of their discussion, never mind Arthur's own lack of comfort with the topic. Still, he was unable to prevent the slight quirk of his lips all the same. "It wasn't overly intimate, and it was unclear the level of commitment from my father, but there was no mistaking what was going on when we entered."  
  
"So you saw them together, then." Gwen shook her head, as though she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing, even though it was obvious the suspicion had been there all along. Suddenly her brows darted high on her forehead and she made a small, thoughtful noise. "Wait, you said 'we'. Someone else was with you?"  
  
"There were no guards in the room. Only Sir Leon and I observed them."  
  
"Sir Leon..." she trailed off, and though Arthur couldn't be quite sure, it sounded as though she was mumbling to herself something along the lines of _'poor man'_. What that meant, he didn't even want to begin to contemplate. Gwen shifted the laundry basket to her other hip, leaning to the right to balance herself in the process. "Where is Morgana now?"  
  
Arthur hiked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction from which he'd come from. "Last I saw her, she was still in my chambers."  
  
"Oh, so you've spoken with her, then? I mean, not that it's any of my business, of course, so you don't have to tell me anything at all..."  
  
"No, it's fine, Guinevere. You tried to warn me and I dismissed your concerns. For that, I apologise." She smiled at him warmly, shaking her head as if it were nothing, though Arthur knew that wasn't the case. He should've believed her, should've trusted in her word. She'd never misled him before. But he'd been too caught up in his own disgust at the prospect that he'd convinced himself that Gwen must have been reading too much into things. Remembering, then, that he still hadn't answered her question, he hastened to add, "She followed me to my chambers. I confronted her about what'd happened, but I wasn't able to get a straight answer out of her."  
  
"What did she say?"  
  
"Not much. That it wasn't a big deal, that my father makes her feel safe, that--" He stopped before he could finish the sentence, brain catching up with his mouth just in time to prevent a reveal of entirely too much information.  
  
Unfortunately for him, Gwen had an eye almost as sharp as Morgana's, and her forehead crinkled curiously. "What? What is it?"  
  
This was not a place he wanted to go right now, though he supposed he'd really prefer to never speak of it again, if possible. If there was anything reassuring about her questioning, however, it was in the knowledge that she would, in fact, back down on this point if he didn't wish to discuss it. Interestingly, it was just another reminder of how Merlin had broken through all the social barriers separating them, while Gwen quietly lurked around its edges, brushing against but never quite stepping through. Merlin wouldn't leave something like this alone, whereas Gwen would, now and possibly always.  
  
It was with this knowledge in hand, grasped firmly between his fingers, that Arthur made a quick decision. "She, um-- She accused me of being in love. With, uh, someone..." he said dumbly. Arthur was blushing already, could feel the heat crawl up the back of his neck, and he was already beginning to regret permitting himself to say anything at all.  
  
Gwen blinked, and then, "Oh." If there were any hidden emotions or thoughts in that single word, they were completely undetectable to him, and he wasn't sure how to interpret her lack of response to his admission.  
  
Instead, he made to downplay the significance of Morgana's claim, as much in the hope of convincing himself as of persuading Gwen. "Yes, well, it was a distraction tactic, without a doubt. I admit it threw me for a bit of a loop, but it was Morgana spewing preposterous ideas around with that exact goal in mind."  
  
"Who did she, uh, accuse you of being in love..." In the same way Arthur found his brain scrambling to catch up with his words, Gwen stopped dead in her tracks, eyes widening and mouth formed into a startled 'O'. "No, wait, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you that. It's none of my business. Please forgive me." Her gaze fell to the floor and she began to play absently with the cuff of her sleeve, suddenly enraptured by the fabric.  
  
"It's all right, there's no need for apologies," Arthur said quickly, fighting back a sigh. This, too, he had no doubt would get back to Gwen eventually, if Morgana had anything to say about it. It was probably best to come out with it and face her reaction head on, than to be left wondering when she would hear and, more importantly, how she would react to the accusation. Especially if, as Morgana had claimed, Gwen already suspected he was in love with someone else. Swallowing the knot of anxiety in his gut, Arthur surged forward before he had time to think better of the decision. "She said that I was in love with, er, Merlin."  
  
A single brow arched high on her forehead. " _Merlin._ "  
  
It should have been a question, but it sounded far more like a statement of fact than Arthur was comfortable with. Even more distressing was the lack of surprise or horror he'd been expecting (or hoping, possibly only hoping) from her, as if the thought wasn't an entirely new one and perhaps almost anticipated. Arthur couldn't even begin to think about what that could possibly imply, didn't want to even _try_. He reached up to scratch at the back of his neck, pointedly ignoring the embarrassed heat radiating from his all-too-obviously red face.  
  
"Yes, can you believe her? As if I'd ever fall in love with Merlin," Arthur scoffed, though it sounded a bit weak, even to his own ears. It was funny, how he was believing his own words less and less, the more he thought or spoke about Merlin. It filled Arthur with a sense of impending dread, and he closed his eyes temporarily, willing the thoughts from his conscious consideration.  
  
When his eyes re-opened, it was to the sight of Gwen staring at him, a discerning expression painted across her features, and Arthur didn't like the knowing look she was giving him. He didn't like it at all. Silence filled the air, and Gwen's hesitation was nearly palpable in its overtness. There was something she wanted to say, he could just _feel_ it, but likely her sense of deference and propriety prevented the words from taking form.  
  
"Well, you know how Morgana can get when she feels cornered," Gwen finally said as way of support -- though he certainly didn't feel any better -- and reached out to gently pat his arm, as if she were consoling a small child over his broken toy. It made Arthur feel decidedly more uncomfortable, if that were even possible.  
  
Arthur grunted in what he hoped came across as an affirmation of Gwen's statement, suddenly desiring nothing more than to speak with his father after all.  
  
After a lengthy and mildly awkward pause, they both spoke at the same time.  
  
"I should probably--"  
  
"I suppose it would be wise--"  
  
Gwen smiled, a soft chuckle tumbling past her lips, and Arthur felt a bit of the sudden tension dissipate. "You first," she suggested.  
  
Arthur found himself unconsciously returning her smile. "I was saying that I should probably be on my way. My father is waiting to speak with me."  
  
"Right. Of course." She nodded quickly, glancing down at the large basket of laundry still in her arms. "I should go too. To, um, finish the laundry."  
  
"Yes, well, that sounds good." Arthur coughed softly, stepping to the side to allow Gwen to pass by.  
  
"Sire," she said, ducking her head respectfully as she moved past him down the hallway.  
  
Just before she rounded the corner he called out to her one last time, a final thought poking at the back of his mind. She stopped, turning to glance back at him inquisitively. "If you could maybe talk to Morgana...?"  
  
"I will," she promised, and then finally disappeared from his sight.  
  
With a sigh, Arthur scrubbed a hand down his face, mentally preparing to face his father as he forced his limbs to move once more, heaviness weighing down each step that brought him closer to the throne room. It was already beginning to feel like an impossibly long day, and he had this sudden feeling that it wouldn't be over for some time still.  


* * *

  
  
Merlin stared at her hand tightening around his forearm, the apprehension on his face a bleak mask, but he made no move to escape. Satisfied that he wasn't going to bolt, Morgana made sure the doors were closed, and gestured for him to sit down at Arthur's dining table. He eased carefully into a chair, never taking his eyes off her.   
  
"I need you to do something for me," Morgana said, and held up a hand at the defiant expression forming on his face, no doubt a harbinger of some stupidly brave remark. "And I'll tell you why you're going to do it."  
  
He swallowed a retort, and said nothing, which she took as invitation to go on.   
  
"The thing is, Merlin," she said, weighing her words deliberately. She was taking a bit of a gamble here, considering she hadn't had any time to really process the discovery that Arthur was in love with his manservant -- and how stupendously ludicrous and yet utterly natural that thought was -- but time was one thing she didn't have. What she _did_ have, however, was deductive skill. "I know why you're here. I know why you choose to stay in Camelot, to hide who you are and risk death everyday."   
  
"Do you?" he said tightly.   
  
Morgana smiled, and it was almost affectionate; she remembered teasing him about liking Gwen once or twice, and the gaping and sputtering he'd do at her, and the way she'd laughed.   
  
"It's because of Arthur, isn't it?" she said. "He's dear to you."  
  
Merlin's lips pressed together in a thin line, like he was afraid of saying too much, though his tense silence spoke just as loudly. "He's good to me," he said, at length. "It's better than most servants could expect. And he'll make a great king some day. I only want to help him get there."  
  
"Oh, that's sweet," Morgana said dully. "So it's just blind loyalty, then, and nothing more?"  
  
Merlin gave her an impatient look. "What are you getting at?"  
  
She rolled her shoulders impassively. "It's just a bit suspicious, don't you think, how dedicated you are to him?"  
  
A flicker of worry danced across his face; she was moving in the right direction. "It's my job," said Merlin.  
  
"Oh, no, Merlin. Washing his socks and making sure he gets breakfast on time is your job. What _doesn't_ fall under your duties is being desperately in love with him." She let the words hang in the air for a moment, let them take their time to sink in, while she scrutinised him closely.   
  
It was a little surprising how easy it was to read him now, considering that in all the time she'd known him, it had never once occurred to her to suspect him of being a murdering sorcerer. At the moment, however, every trace of trepidation and anxiety stood out starkly on his face, and it was clear that her gambit had paid off. He was just as in love with Arthur as Arthur was with him, and neither of them had a bloody clue about it. Had she stumbled upon this three months ago, she'd have probably been first in line to lock them in a small room together until they sorted it out -- or at least would have threatened to, with no small amount of glee -- but the way things stood now, the best she could do was to manipulate those feelings into means for her ends.   
  
It gave her no pleasure to know that Arthur might wind up hurt by all of this, but he was strong and he'd get over it eventually. Right now there were much more important things at stake.   
  
Merlin's eyebrows knotted together, pulling the rest of his features into line, hiding his insecurity under a sheen of annoyance. "Is this going somewhere? I do have chores to do."  
  
"I'll take it as true, then? Tell me, Merlin, how can you claim to love someone and yet lie to his face every single day?"  
  
"I never said anything of the kind," Merlin retorted.   
  
Morgana noted privately that he wasn't outright denying having feelings for Arthur either, which was fair enough, considering that if she were in his position she'd play everything as closely to the chest as possible. But, of course, she wasn't Merlin; if she had been, she wouldn't have been surprised by what came out of his mouth next.   
  
"And even if it was true," Merlin said, his eyes darkening with intent, "at least I'm doing it to protect him from harm. From people like you. You would kill Arthur ten times over just to achieve your own ends. The sleeping spell, the snake in the forest -- he would have _died_ because of _you_."  
  
"I had nothing to do with that," Morgana snapped, a chill seizing her insides at the thought of Arthur pushed so close to death.   
  
Merlin shook his head. "Just because you aren't the one drawing his blood doesn't mean you get to wash your hands of responsibility. You're the reason why these things happened. You started this."  
  
" _Uther_ started this," she hissed. "His hatred and his selfishness are why we have to live like this, why we have to die for being born this way. Don't tell me you wouldn't want things to be different."  
  
"Of course I do, and in time, it _will_ be different. _Arthur_ will make the difference."  
  
"In time?" Morgana scoffed. "If Uther's reign goes on for the next twenty years, you'll just wait it out? Watch him execute magic users left and right until there's no one left? And who's to say Arthur will deal with it any better? You know how he was raised, and the longer he lives under Uther's laws, the more inured he'll become to it."  
  
"So you'll kill him first, just in case?" Merlin said snidely.   
  
Morgana's jaw clenched. "I told you, I had nothing to do with Arthur being attacked." The glare of accusation burned a little too hot, and she knew that if the conversation continued down this path, she might end up admitting to things she didn't want to think of, and capitulating to feelings she'd kept buried deep inside. She had a mission to carry out, for the good of Camelot, for the fading light of the Old Religion, and there was no leeway for emotional diversions. At least, not that of her own emotions.   
  
Forcing them aside, she shot Merlin as condescending and controlled a look as she could manage. "It is noble of you, I suppose," she vouchsafed, tilting her head to study him like a dead specimen pinned to a board. "So willing to give your life up for someone who wouldn't think twice about ending yours. It doesn't matter to you that Arthur was brought up to believe that all sorcery is evil? That if you were found out, he'd set the pyre aflame himself if his father ordered it?"  
  
"Arthur's not like that, and you know it."  
  
"Isn't he?" Morgana countered. "Think of how long it took him to intervene when _Gaius_ was sentenced to death last year for suspected sorcery. He's known Gaius his entire life; he's practically a second father to Arthur. And you think Arthur would rush to protect _you_ after you've been lying to him all this time? Making a fool of him?"  
  
Merlin only looked at her calmly. "I trust Arthur with my life, under any circumstance. Maybe you don't have faith in him, but I do."  
  
It was a saccharine sentiment, probably meant to be touching in some capacity, but its sickly sweetness only infuriated Morgana. That Merlin should remain so unruffled at the prospect of offering up his secret and placing his life in Arthur's hands, without fear or recrimination, stung. It wasn't resignation that made him this way, it was an unassailable confidence in Arthur's character -- the depths of his heart and his inherent sense of justice -- that gave Merlin this self-assurance. He was only a servant, while she had lived under this roof for more than half her life, as a part of the family, yet she still didn't know if she could expect that same treatment from Uther -- or even Arthur, for that matter -- if she was the one to divulge her secret.   
  
"Is that so?" she challenged, swallowing her own doubts. "Well, when Arthur returns, perhaps we should test this theory."  
  
A flash of uncertainty alit on Merlin's face for a brief second, but he met her gaze steadily. "I'm sure he would find it equally interesting to hear what you're up to."  
  
"Please," Morgana said, dismissive. "What makes you think Arthur would take your word over mine?"  
  
Merlin shrugged. "Maybe he won't, and maybe you'll be rid of me after all, but Arthur's clever. Once he's got an idea in his head he won't let it go until he's seen it through to the last. You've already got guards watching you day and night; do you really want to risk drawing Arthur's attention to your movements as well?"  
  
Morgana narrowed angry eyes at him. Again that quiet confidence about Arthur, that insouciance to her threats; he was turning out to be far less tractable than she'd thought. And even as she knew that she would never have worked up the fortitude to do so, the thought that perhaps she should have killed him when she'd had the chance ran across her mind. She needed him now, however, to keep Arthur's mind at ease about her and Uther, and if she didn't have a strong enough hold over him using Arthur, then she'd just have to take it one step up the chain of command.   
  
"I don't think you fully understand me, Merlin. I don't need to use your sorcery against you -- it's just convenient. I don't even need a _smidgen_ of truth to make your life a living hell. If I screamed right now, told the guards you'd tried to attack me, who do you think they're going to believe? Whose side do you think Uther would take?" She raised an eyebrow in challenge. "You're just a servant boy. But me? I _matter_."  
  
"Then why don't you use that for good?" Merlin demanded. "You could do so much with just one word."  
  
She levelled a heated glare at him. "Don't you think I've tried? Uther clapped me in chains for speaking against him. His head is so full of the lies he's spun there's no room for reason."   
  
"And destroying Camelot is supposed to help? Killing everyone who cares about you will make it better?"  
  
"It isn't like that," she insisted.  
  
All of a sudden Merlin's expression softened; it made him look so young and untainted that for a moment Morgana could have believed every word he uttered, and that was so much worse than if he had castigated her instead. "I don't know what you're planning, Morgana, but if you have to hurt other people to get it done, then it isn't right," he said.   
  
Morgana lifted her chin. "It's no worse than what Uther's done to his people for the entirety of his reign. I'm doing Camelot a _favour_."  
  
"I know you're hurt and disappointed and angry," Merlin went on in a gentle voice, like he was afraid of spooking her, "but if you let that guide your actions, by the end you won't have anything to hold onto except your own bitterness."   
  
Abruptly she was reminded of Leon, dear Leon, who had let go of his pain and sorrow and turned himself from a recalcitrant ruffian as a youth into a man anyone would be proud to call friend. A lash of shame whipped through her at the thought of the difference in their paths, what he might think of her if he knew she'd only come back to seek deadly vengeance. It was unavoidable now; she'd tried to bury it under the guise of justice, but it seared through her fortifications, and she knew, as she'd known all along, that what she was doing to Uther was plainly and simply wrong.   
  
But just because two wrongs didn't make a right didn't mean she could stand idly by and do nothing while Uther continued to spread his petty lies around and take the lives of innocents. Maybe Merlin was content to just wait until Arthur took the throne and threw all the laws out the window, but Morgana couldn't. For over twenty years, hundreds of people had suffered at Uther's hands, and she wasn't willing to give him twenty more, nor was she willing to bank on Arthur having the courage to rule in opposition of his father's legacy. And maybe what she was doing wasn't right, but at least it would be better than what they had now.   
  
Morgause wanted to take the kingdom by magic and by force, and Merlin wanted to leave it be, and either way, by the end one of them would find the blood of hundreds on their hands. But for Morgana, there would be one casualty and one alone, and that, she thought, she could live with. If she could only see her plan through, Uther would make her his queen, and once it was certain that all authority would be left to her upon his passing, she would engineer his death, and Camelot would be hers to heal.   
  
She shook her head at Merlin, and tried not to let him see the traces of her regret. "I have to do this," she said, with more conviction than she currently felt.   
  
"Morgana, no," Merlin said.   
  
"And," she continued, as though he hadn't spoken, "if you don't want me screaming for the guards, you'll do as I say."  
  
He dropped his head, disappointed.   
  
"Arthur may speak to you of my relationship with Uther. I need you to convince him that there's nothing to worry about. And if you can't do that," Morgana said, when Merlin looked at her as though he was going to start arguing again, "then at least keep him occupied with something else. I don't care what; just keep him out of my way."  
  
"What are you going to do?" Merlin asked, chary.   
  
"I won't hurt Arthur, if that's what you're thinking. And that's all you need to know."  
  
Before Merlin could make any further protest, Morgana pushed away from the table and strode out of Arthur's chambers, the echo of her footsteps through the corridors a mocking accompaniment to her solitude.


	11. Chapter 11

The door shut behind Morgana with a resounding thud, its finality ringing throughout the room. Merlin stared at the spot on the floor where Morgana had been, as though he somehow might be able to change what had just transpired between them through sheer will alone. Merlin knew with the utmost confidence that she was not all bad, not truly evil. It was clear -- in the fear for Arthur's safety, how she treated Gwen and the other servants with kindness and respect, in the way she'd spared Merlin's life even when she would've been justified in taking it -- that there was still goodness and love and compassion dwelling within her heart. But Morgana was angry and hurt, maybe even confused; she was reacting with fear instead of with logic and purpose. It was with this knowledge that Merlin felt hopeful that maybe there was still a way to stop her, to help prevent the downfall that was imminent if she continued down this self-destructive path.  
  
Still, even believing that there was hope didn't change the fact that in her current state, there was no doubt that she would make good on her threat to bring Merlin down if he so much as tried to involve Arthur in any way. And down he _would_ fall, regardless of how Arthur received the information, because Uther would never permit a servant the chance to defend himself against claims made by the king's ward. Which meant that for now, until he could figure out a way to fix the situation, Merlin had no choice but to do exactly as Morgana told him. This wouldn't be the first time Merlin lied to him -- it had become a necessity over the years in order to keep Arthur safe -- but something had been changing between them lately, and to continue to lie to Arthur in light of his recent bout of concern for Merlin's well-being felt particularly deceptive, and he didn't like it one whit.  
  
"What are you doing here?" a voice suddenly asked from the doorway, and Merlin nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. He'd been so lost in his own thoughts he hadn't even heard the door open again. Thankfully Morgana hadn't returned for a second round, though he couldn't in good conscience claim that he was overly thrilled with the prospect of dealing with Arthur at the moment either.  
  
Swallowing the sudden rush of anxiety that rose in his chest, Merlin turned to watch as Arthur made his way into the room, throwing a light, and hopefully convincing, smile in his direction. "Isn't that obvious?"  
  
As Arthur's eyes scanned the room purposefully, Merlin amended his original statement. "Actually, on second thoughts, don't answer that. I'm, er, tidying up your room."  
  
A bark of laughter escaped Arthur's lips, a sarcastic half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You call this tidy? Perhaps you and I should sit down and have a discussion about what the word 'clean' actually means to you, because I think we have vastly different definitions."  
  
Truthfully, Arthur's chambers had seen better days, and in fact, Merlin had probably messed things up more than organised them since Morgana's departure, her threats ringing in his ears with every task he attempted to do. Still, the state of Arthur's room wasn't actually all that bad, when put into perspective. Sure, there were clothes strewn haphazardly across various pieces of furniture, armour resting in a pile in one corner of the room, and dirty dishes still lying around from the previous night. But it was liveable, and considering the current circumstances, Merlin felt he deserved a bit of slack, even if Arthur was unaware of why that was.  
  
"Your wit never ceases to amuse me, sire," Merlin said, smiling softly, knowing full well that he was being teased. Normally he would've jumped right into the game -- bickering with Arthur was one of his favourite pastimes, after all -- but right now he couldn't seem to bring himself to engage with Arthur. Not when he knew that no matter where this conversation began, it would still lead to lies and deceit in the end, because there were no other options.  
  
Instead, he turned his back on Arthur and decided to try to actually get some work done. It was easier than talking, and in fact, preferable at this point. If Arthur didn't talk to him about Morgana and Uther's relationship, then Merlin had no reason to lie straight out. Turning his attention to cleaning, Merlin busied himself gathering and stacking the dishes from the previous night, while Arthur found something that captured his eye on the other side of the room, and he was relieved when silence fell over the room, even if it felt unnatural.  
  
Unfortunately the quiet was short-lived, though in what was increasingly becoming a habit, Arthur was the one who eventually broke it. "Morgana kissed my father," he blurted out, without preamble, throwing Merlin slightly off-guard, because strangely enough, he hadn't seen that coming.  
  
So there it was; another piece of the puzzle falling into Merlin's lap, even if several of the pieces were still missing. It certainly explained some of Morgana's earlier behaviour, yet it still revealed nothing of her end game plan.  
  
Merlin's hands stilled in mid-air and he turned sharply to stare at Arthur. "What did you just say?"  
  
"Morgana. Kissed. My. Father," Arthur repeated slowly.  
  
Merlin blinked. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Of _course_ I'm sure, Merlin. She was in his arms, and their lips were touching. I'm not sure how else you interpret something like that." Arthur fell silent then, looking truly haunted for a moment before he visibly shook himself out of it.  
  
Merlin cocked his head to the side, finger reaching up to tap his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Where did this, uh, happen?"  
  
Standing, Arthur rounded the desk and walked over to where Merlin stood, leaning back against the table, a single cup still loosely clasped in his left hand. "The throne room. I went to speak with my father, and Leon was outside. He informed me that Morgana was inside meeting with my father, so naturally, I thought it would be fine to interrupt--" He stopped himself there, waving his hands around, apparently in the hopes that Merlin would just get the gist of what he was saying and not ask for further details.  
  
Merlin opened his mouth, intent on badgering Arthur for even more information, when Morgana's warning came rushing over him like a wave. If he started making a fuss about the situation now, it would be all the more challenging to later convince Arthur that he thought there was no need for concern, and he didn't want to know what would happen if he couldn't sway Arthur's perspective. After a brief pause, he settled on, "Oh."  
  
Arthur gaped openly. "That's all you have to say? 'Oh'? I catch my father and Morgana _kissing_ , and you have nothing better to say than 'oh'?"  
  
One shoulder lifted casually. "What do you want me to say, then?" Merlin asked, carefully masking any uncertainty he felt.  
  
"I don't know! You could wonder what they're up to, demand to know what I intend to do about the situation, show a bit of outrage at the impropriety of the whole thing, ask me how I'm handling it. Something. Other than, you know, the _nothing_ which you've already done. Impressively well, I might add."   
  
They were all reasonable suggestions, and had the situation been even remotely different in any capacity, Merlin probably would've done each of those things, possibly all at the same time. But as it was, he knew things that Arthur didn't -- and specifically, at this very moment, things that he _couldn't_ \-- and it would be more than just his own life on the line if Merlin wasn't able to divert his attention away from this whole situation with Morgana and Uther. So with great reluctance and a heavy heart, Merlin willed himself to get through the conversation. It was all for Arthur, always for him, and as long as he remembered that, Merlin would be all right. Or so the little voice at the back of his mind tried to tell him.  
  
"Did you talk to your father about what you saw?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And what did he tell you?" Merlin pressed, instinctively stepping closer to Arthur, supportive.  
  
Folding his arms stubbornly, Arthur scrunched up his nose, and in spite of the situation, Merlin had to bite back a smile. Arthur could be highly endearing when he was pouting. "He said that there was nothing going on between them, and reminded me of the immense amount of stress that Morgana has been under as of late--" stress which Merlin suspected was a gross exaggeration of reality, if not a total fabrication altogether "--and said that she was just confused and in need of comforting. He assured me that he would be speaking with her soon, and that nothing had changed, so it would be best for everyone involved if we simply forgot about the whole situation. But I just don't know how I can do that."  
  
It seemed as though Uther had started the process of convincing Arthur there was nothing to be concerned about. Now Merlin had been granted the unfortunate task of finishing the job.  
  
"Look, Arthur, I can appreciate how this might be very upsetting, but you said it yourself -- your father assured you there was nothing going on between him and Morgana. I'm sure it was as innocent as he claims." Merlin swallowed the guilt, forcing himself to meet Arthur's gaze. If he was going to do this, then he was going to do it well, much as that idea still pained him.  
  
"It didn't look innocent," Arthur said, voice sounding far younger and more naïve than Merlin had heard in quite a while, and it pricked all the more at Merlin's conscience, to be lying to him now about this. Arthur picked absently at a few stray fibres unravelling at the end of his tunic, clearly distracted.  
  
"I didn't see what happened, but I mean, Uther and Morgana? Together romantically? It's a completely preposterous idea. He views her as a daughter, and she sees him as a father figure. Do you really think that there's something else going on there?" Never mind that there very well might have been, though the argument, in theory, should have been a sound one. If Merlin were waging money, he would bet that Morgana was working to somehow try and elicit less than platonic feelings from Uther, though to meet what ends, Merlin could only hope to guess at this point.  
  
Several beats passed in heavy silence, and he could practically see the wheels turning in Arthur's head, as he sorted through what he knew with what was logical and what Merlin was positing as an alternative suggestion.  
  
"I suppose you may have a valid point, reluctant as I am to admit it," Arthur said at length, holding his chin thoughtfully.  
  
Merlin forced a smile. "Of course I do."  
  
And then the conversation promptly died, which Merlin could only assume signified his success, at least for now.  
  
With that out of the way, Merlin desired nothing more than to just put some distance between himself and Arthur, if for no other reason than to avoid the guilt he felt when facing him, though he also hoped to find Gaius in order to begin sorting out their next move. Just as he was about to leave, Merlin felt a hand curl around his shoulder, turning him back to face Arthur.  
  
"Are you all right?" Arthur asked, so filled with genuine concern that it took Merlin completely aback.  
  
Without thinking, Merlin found himself leaning into Arthur's touch, almost instinctively, but he merely shook his head. "Why would you ask me that?" he wondered, perplexed.  
  
"I don't know. You just seem-- distracted," Arthur said with a shrug, fingers digging ever so slightly into Merlin's shoulder blades. He stared at Merlin with purpose, as though trying to peer into his soul in order to rummage around, and it was nothing if not unnerving. Merlin held his breath -- though what he hoped to accomplish with that move he had no idea -- and willed his mind to remain blank. He was rubbish at this in the best of circumstances, never mind when it was practically being forced upon him.  
  
"I'm fine," Merlin lied, pulling his lips into some semblance of a smile. "But thanks for your concern. It's probably from all the excitement around here these days. Hard to get anything done."  
  
For a moment it appeared as though Arthur might not accept his words at face value. But then he nodded once and released Merlin's shoulder. "All right, good. That's good."  
  
Pushing down the guilt, Merlin smiled and excused himself, barely able to keep from running the minute he set foot outside Arthur's door. He needed to speak to Gaius immediately.  


* * *

  
  
Morgana had barely managed to take more than a dozen steps away from Arthur's chambers when she was met with the sight of Leon, striding down the corridor in her direction. It was inevitable that she should see him again, and yet there'd been a part of her that was hoping for some more time to figure out what to say to him. He was certainly not entitled to any sort of explanation for her behaviour, nor was she particularly keen on the idea of detailing the stages in her plan to bring about the downfall of a king he still loyally served. All the same, the guilt of what she'd done, coupled with the fact that Leon had borne witness to her actions, filled her with the burgeoning desire to offer him some sort of explanation, if not to avoid the accusation and condemnation in his eyes, then to ease the turmoil in her own mind.  
  
The decision had clearly been removed from her grasp, however, and she swallowed down whatever traitorous thoughts may have clung to her mind, forcing a smile, even as the insincerity gnawed at her gut.  
  
"Leon--" Every instinct screamed at her to add _'I'm sorry'_ , but she pointedly ignored it. It wasn't right that things had to be this way, and she was once again reminded of her hatred of the cultural norms that restricted their behaviour. "I was speaking with Arthur in his chambers. I didn't mean to run off without informing you of where I was headed."  
  
Keeping her chin held high, Morgana met his gaze, afraid of what she would find in his expression, but knowing that avoiding his eyes would confirm her guilt outright. She'd been expecting confusion or anger, possibly even disgust -- and maybe a tiny part of her _hoped_ that he might even be jealous -- but what she hadn't anticipated was the blank look in his eyes, revealing nothing of what he was thinking or feeling. He merely inclined his head, face a mask, waiting deferentially for her to keep walking down the corridor. It was so unlike his usual openness, especially as they'd grown to know one another over the last few weeks, that it felt like a slap in the face. In a strange sort of way, she almost _wished_ that he would reveal whatever he was feeling, because she could handle anger or annoyance, even betrayal. But not knowing how he felt meant that there was also no way of even responding to him, of working to set things right again, if that were even possible.  
  
Then again, what did she expect, exactly? He wasn't in a position to demand answers or explanations. He was a knight, and her personal guard, assigned to protect her from an invisible threat during waking hours, nothing more. And though he was of noble blood, she was still the king's ward and therefore of significantly higher social standing. He did not have the luxury of questioning her motives, insisting that she clarify her actions or reassure him of their standing. Leon was an honourable man to the core; any feelings he may have had about the situation would be irrelevant in his mind, and he would continue to follow the knight's code to the letter, because that was just who he was. For all that she admired these qualities about him, in this one instance she wished he was prone to the occasional bout of impulsiveness. Morgana would never hold it against him, should he decide to bring up what'd happened between Uther and her, welcomed the thought in fact, but it was nothing more than a fruitless dream.   
  
"That's quite all right. I'm just relieved I found you." He gestured for her to head down the hall behind him, ducking his head in reverence. "After you."  
  
To the casual observer, his behaviour was the same as always, but Morgana knew better. Feeling truly powerless, she resigned herself to the fact that any conversation they could ever have -- if that were even possible -- certainly would be best served in private, and not in the middle of one of the busiest corridors in the castle. Nodding in Leon's direction, she moved past him carefully, silence chasing them down the corridor like a predator as they walked.  
  
This had been the plan all along, hatched and nurtured over all those months with Morgause and her companions, deep within their forest fortress. She'd prepared, steeling her nerves and hardening her resolve each and every day that passed; she'd been _ready_ to take this on and emerge victorious. That guilt should obtain such a stronghold over her emotions now -- first with Arthur and then with Leon -- was unwelcome, yet strangely not entirely shocking either. She needed to focus, to keep her gaze firmly fixed on the prize. The reality was that there was no way to take down Uther without hurting a few people along the way; she'd just never imagined that Leon might be one of them, or more importantly, that she would _care_.  
  
By the time they reached her chambers, Morgana was still no closer to sorting through what she hoped to say to Leon. Even if she were to try to apologise, Morgana knew she couldn't very well announce, _'I'm sorry for what you witnessed. I don't actually love Uther, I'm just trying to seduce him so I can become Queen and free the people of Camelot from his tyranny. But maybe once he's dead, there will be an opportunity for us.'_ It was foolish to think that there was anything that even _could_ be said.  
  
Leon took his post outside her door, silent still, and even though there was no reason for her to remain standing in the corridor, Morgana felt herself hesitate anyway.   
  
"Thank you for all your dedication." It was an incredibly inane thing to say, that much was clear, but Morgana couldn't stand by and leave things the way they were. She wracked her brain for an excuse to invite him into her chambers, but she could think of nothing that wouldn't come across as being highly inappropriate, and the last thing Morgana desired to do was drag Leon's good name down into the mud alongside her own, when all was said and done.  
  
"There's no need to thank me. I--" Leon paused, features softening for just a moment, and Morgana felt hope rise in her chest. But then, just as quickly as it had arrived, he seemed to change his mind, closing off to her once more. "I'm just doing my job."  
  
And that was that, hard as it was to swallow.  
  
"I think I'm going to retire for the night," she announced, without purpose, save for attempting to elicit even the smallest flicker of the warmth and compassion that had once danced behind his eyes when they interacted.  
  
"Good night, my lady," he said, gracing her with a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It pained her that things had changed so quickly, that the easy friendship which had formed between them was now nothing more than a faded memory.  
  
One hand reached out to grasp the door handle, but before she pushed it open, Morgana turned back to Leon one last time. "Look, Leon, I just--" How could she word this, so that she wasn't lying to him? "I know it may be difficult to understand, but I've been-- I've been under a great deal of stress lately. I just wanted you to know, and I-- I appreciate everything you've done for me. It will not soon be forgotten." It wasn't enough, never would be, but if her words made even the slightest bit of difference in his eyes, it would be worth it.  


* * *

  
  
"Gaius, we've got big problems. Well, I suppose more specifically, _I've_ got big problems, and maybe even more specifically, _Uther_ is the one who should be worried, but he obviously doesn't know that, and I need your help to figure out what to do, because I'm having a hard time figuring out what the right decision is here."  
  
Merlin barrelled into the workshop, breathless, the words pouring out of his mouth before he even had the time to ensure Gaius was alone. Or there at all, for that matter.  
  
Thankfully the physician was there, mixing up some sort of foul-smelling concoction, and he glanced up with equal parts concern and irritation upon hearing Merlin's outburst. "Close the door before you start yelling things like that, for heaven's sake, Merlin," he scolded, placing the vials safely back on the table before gesturing for Merlin to join him. "I swear, sometimes I wonder if you have a death wish, or you really _are_ just that mentally deficient."  
  
A sheepish smile crept on to Merlin's face, and he ducked his head contritely. It seemed that no matter how many times Gaius warned him, he was still as impetuous as when he'd first arrived in Camelot. Thus far he'd been lucky, but it hadn't been without cost to his friends, on more than one occasion, and he resolved to at least try to work on the skill of looking before he leapt in the future, even if it went against his nature. But right now, he had far more serious matters to attend to.  
  
"You're right, Gaius, I'm sorry. It's just that something really terrible is about to happen and I have no idea how to stop it," Merlin said. He glanced down at the bench, considered sitting, but quickly tossed the thought aside, too full of restless energy to do anything besides pace back and forth across the room.  
  
"Merlin, I can see that you're upset about something, but you need to slow down and start at the beginning if you want my help."  
  
The beginning? Where was that, even? It felt like Merlin's world had been upended several times in such a short period of time, and only when he stopped to consider that it'd been less than a day since he'd last talked to Gaius did it occur to Merlin just how _much_ had actually happened over the past twenty-four hours. Taking a deep, calming breath, Merlin scrubbed a hand down his face before he attempted to explain the entire situation to Gaius.  
  
"Morgana kissed Uther and I think she might be planning to kill him or at least get him off the throne somehow, and I had to lie to Arthur and convince him to back off and leave Morgana alone, even though it killed me to do it, because she threatened to reveal my magic to Arthur if I didn't help her, despite the fact that I tried to tell her that this wasn't the way to change things--"  
  
"Merlin!" Gaius interrupted sharply, raising a hand to halt his speech, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly agape. "Stop, stop. Are you telling me that Morgana _knows_ about your magic?"  
  
He nodded, gaze fixing on a spot across the room. It was easier than meeting Gaius' eyes when he explained how this happened. "Yes. I was, uh, using it to put away some of those texts we were looking through, because I was tired and they were really heavy." Merlin could feel the disapproving look Gaius was giving him, but he steadfastly ignored it. "I thought I heard the door open, but I kind of assumed it was you so I didn't think too much of it. She walked in and saw me as I was floating the books back to their spot on the shelf."  
  
It almost came as a surprise when he felt the smack of Gaius' hand to the back of his head. "You absolute _fool_. Of all the idiotic, useless, negligent things you could've done. Merlin, what if a guard or, even worse, the _king_ had walked in and seen you instead? You're lucky to still be alive." Despite the anger he heard in his mentor's voice, Merlin could also hear the fear and worry seeping through Gaius' words.  
  
"I know, Gaius, I know. I'm sorry. It was completely reckless of me, and I promise that I'll be more responsible in the future, but it's too late to do anything about it now. She already knows."  
  
Gaius looked like he wanted to continue scolding Merlin, but in the end, his curiosity seemed to win out. "And what happened when Morgana caught you?"  
  
"She was really angry, but can you blame her? I thought she was going to kill me at one point, but she obviously didn't. Maybe I should have told her all those months ago that I was magic too. Perhaps I could've prevented all of this from happening." Merlin continued to pace the length of the room, slowly, his mind buried deep in thoughts of regret and self-doubt.  
  
"Merlin, you said yourself that what's done is done, so there's no point in dragging yourself down with guilt of what you should or shouldn't have told Morgana. But you said that she's up to something and it involves Uther? What are you talking about?" Gaius asked, eyes tracking Merlin's movements. One hand rested on the tabletop, as if supporting his weight.  
  
"I don't know exactly what she has planned, but I suspect it has something to do with knocking Uther out of power. She kissed him today, and Arthur said that Gwen's been concerned about her behaviour around Uther for the past couple of weeks," Merlin explained, gesticulating as he spoke. "Then she all but told me that she has some plan to make things better in Camelot and that if I didn't want to end up on the chopping block for any number of reasons, I needed to convince Arthur that there was nothing to worry about, which implies that clearly there _is_ cause for concern."  
  
"Morgana kissed Uther? You saw this with your own eyes?"  
  
Funny how Gaius only seemed capable of picking up on one detail at a time, though perhaps it helped maintain the much-needed focus that Merlin seemed incapable of holding at present. "No, but Arthur did, and believe me, he was not impressed. But Morgana basically confirmed it herself, without actually saying the words."  
  
"And what did you tell Arthur?" Gaius pressed.  
  
Merlin threw his hands up in the air, stopping mid-step and turning to glance at Gaius. "That he had nothing to worry about. That Morgana had been through some traumatic experiences and surely the idea of a romance with his father was preposterous. I hated lying to him, though. And the worst part is that I think he might have taken my words to heart. It figures that of all the times for Arthur to finally start listening to me, it would be _now_."   
  
Gaius tapped his chin thoughtfully, eyebrows furrowed, and it was plain to see that he was clearly disturbed by this turn of events. "Do you have any other evidence that Morgana is out to harm Uther?"  
  
He wasn't serious, was he? Merlin tried to keep the sarcastic tone out of his voice as he spoke, but it was a little challenging. "Um, other than the fact that she's clearly trying to seduce Uther, and she _told me as much_ , I'm going to say that no, I have nothing else. But I'd say that qualifies as enough evidence, wouldn't you?"  
  
"Yes, I suppose you're right." Gaius nodded and indicated for Merlin to come and sit at the table. Reluctantly, Merlin stopped his pacing and took a seat across from his friend.  
  
"So what do we do now?"  
  
"I'm afraid there isn't much we _can_ do at this point," Gaius said, frowning. "Unless we have some hard evidence to take to Uther, he would never believe it. He's blinded by his love for and devotion to Morgana. She would have to literally be standing over his chest with a dagger in her hand before he believed she would hurt him, and even then, it's still doubtful."  
  
"Well, that's reassuring," Merlin grumbled to his boots. So much for Gaius having the solution to this problem. Not that he'd really expected it, of course, but this wasn't exactly helpful in his quest to prevent Morgana from making the biggest mistake of her life.  
  
A hand covered his arm, squeezing gently, and Merlin glanced up. "That does not mean that you are completely powerless in all of this, though, Merlin," Gaius said in that knowing tone of voice he sometimes used, as though he had the utmost confidence in his words.  
  
"So what do you suggest I do then?"  
  
"Keep a close eye on Morgana, as well as Uther. It won't be an easy task, but I'm sure that you can recruit some _assistance_ along the way."  
  
Merlin's brows crinkled in confusion. He had absolutely no idea what Gaius was trying to imply. "Assistance? Who am I going to ask to keep an eye on her for me? Leon seems like a decent enough person, but I doubt he would agree to report Morgana's whereabouts to me."  
  
Even the confounded stare he received in return -- one that seemed to suggest that Merlin was truly the daftest person Gaius had ever had the misfortune of knowing -- wasn't enough to enlighten him to the big secret he was apparently missing.  
  
"Gwen, Merlin. Gwen," Gaius said slowly, clearly, insinuating in his tone that Merlin would not be able to follow otherwise, which realistically might not have been that far off the mark. "As Morgana's maidservant, she spends a great deal of time in her lady's company. Plus, as you've already mentioned, it seems that Gwen also has her suspicions. I think it would be wise to track her down and attempt to find out what she knows."   
  
"Right. Gwen. Of course. Yeah, I'll do that," Merlin muttered, trying not to sound as dumb as he felt, though if Gaius' cheeky little smirk was any indication, he wasn't exactly succeeding.  
  
Gaius reached out to pat Merlin on the back, looking at him with a mixture of fondness and concern. "Actually, you don't look so good, my boy. I suggest you get some rest now. You have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow."  
  
Merlin frowned. He felt perfectly fine. Well, mostly fine. He was exhausted, and maybe his throat hurt a little. But that was only because he'd spent most of the day talking and fighting with various people. It was nothing. Gaius was over-reacting, as he often did. "No, I'm all right. It's not that late. I'm sure I could find Gwen now, and besides... I need to check on Arthur. You know how he is -- can't sleep if his room isn't exactly the right temperature, and his bed hasn't been warmed beforehand with stones, and so on and so forth," he said, waving one hand about theatrically. Arthur actually wasn't quite as picky as Merlin was making him out to be -- usually -- but he couldn't allow himself to sleep when there were still so many things to do this evening. Protecting the Pendragons from the constant onslaught of dangerous threat was a full time job.  
  
"Merlin, I really don't think that's wise--" Gaius started, but Merlin was already out the door.  


* * *

  
  
Morgana stood alone in her room, cold, silently fingering the crack she'd put in the wall all those years ago when she'd first arrived in Camelot as a girl, when grief and rage and the immutability of her circumstances had felt so overwhelming she could find no other way of dispelling her fears than to inflict destruction on something else. Was she no more mature than that girl now, still bent on spreading her own hurt as far as she could reach?   
  
It hadn't been so long ago that it had all seemed so right, that she had a purpose in coming back to face those who would persecute her for being born with magic. Then, she had been buoyed by Morgause and her like-minded friends, who'd encouraged her on this path, who'd fed her health with the salubrity of the forest and her head with the misdeeds of Uther Pendragon. She'd had no cause then for self-doubt, no thoughts of what it would do to Arthur to take his rightful place, no remembrances of Uther's small kindnesses to a girl to whom he had no real obligation beyond the memory of a dead friend, no inkling of the easy friendship she'd strike up with Leon and just as easily cast away.   
  
There was no use denying the ache in her chest when, after the disaster of her kiss with Uther, Leon had come to regard her with blank eyes, the warmth that had lit his face previously now banked carefully to ash.   
  
Perhaps it was presumptuous of her to think there had been something there to begin with, but whatever it was, she felt its loss keenly now. There was no way he could guess what perfidy she had been planning all along, but even just knowing the depths of his character, the magnanimity that resided in him, borne out by putting aside his anger at his brother's death, made her feel small and base in comparison.   
  
But he didn't have a whole kingdom to think of. He didn't have on his shoulders the souls of sorcerers long gone and the fears of the few left behind.   
  
Morgana closed her eyes, leaning her head against the wall, hoping in vain desperation that the cool stone, in its age and strength, had some wisdom to impart to her. When she eased her eyes open again, the answer stood before her.   
  
"Morgause!" she cried, startled.   
  
A gentle hand rose to cup her cheek, and Morgause's mouth creased worriedly. "Are you unwell?"  
  
"I'm fine," Morgana said, clasping her sister's hand gratefully. She blinked. "How did you get in here?"  
  
Morgause smiled. "I took care of your guard."  
  
Without thinking, Morgana darted a sharp glance towards the door, nearly taking a step towards it, filled with a sudden panic that Morgause had hurt Leon to get past him. It took only a split second for her to realise that it was the night shift and he wouldn't be on duty, but it was enough for Morgause to follow her gaze and latch on to it.   
  
"You haven't got attached, have you?" she asked, a lilt of amusement in her voice that made something hot flare up in Morgana's belly.   
  
"I was only afraid you might draw unnecessary attention to yourself, attacking a guard," Morgana lied.   
  
"Oh," Morgause said dismissively, "don't worry, I've only put him to sleep. He'll wake in the morning with no recollection of having seen me. As you say, I don't want to cause any alarm." She tugged on Morgana's hand. "Come, sit with me and tell me what news you have. I'm sure much progress has been made since we saw each other last?"  
  
Morgana sat obediently. "Well," she hedged, "it's rather a delicate process. And Arthur has been, well, quite opposed to the whole thing."  
  
"Arthur? He's back?" Morgause said, surprised.   
  
"For quite some time." Something tickled the back of her mind, and Morgana's brow furrowed, trying to coax it forward. "He almost didn't make it home, though," she said slowly, the guilt at that still lingering.   
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Something attacked him out there, something not of this world -- a giant serpent with horns, he said. Have you heard of it?"  
  
Morgause idly drew an incomprehensible rune on the table with her fingertip, shaking her head. "I haven't. And how did he escape it?"  
  
"He's a brilliant fighter," she replied, feeling a bit of pride well up inside her. "And, well, I suppose he did have Merlin there with him, too."  
  
"The servant boy who poisoned you? You haven't killed him?"  
  
If only it was as easy as all that. "No, I need him. He and Arthur seem quite attached to each other; I thought I might be able to use him that way, to get Arthur on our side. Merlin is..." She paused, unsure how much she really wanted to say about Merlin. His magic wasn't her secret to tell, but that wasn't what was fuelling her hesitance. And it wasn't that she wanted to protect him either; their friendship had splintered months ago, and she felt no obligations to him. All the same, there was some unvoiced thought urging her to keep quiet about his abilities, at least for now, and she followed the instinct. "He may be just a servant, but he has a lot of emotional influence over Arthur," she said, "and thanks to his attempt to kill me, I have influence over him. I think having Merlin under my thumb will work out in our favour in the long run."  
  
Morgause nodded, her jaw shifting as she digested this information. "He may have his uses yet," she conceded, at length. After another moment of thought, she added, "Still, Arthur is weak. Even upon learning the truth about his mother, he could not bring himself to turn on Uther. I fear his attachment to Merlin, however strong, may not be enough. He is not yet fit to be king, not in the way we need him to be." She frowned. "I wonder if he'll ever be."   
  
Shades of disapproval coloured her words; she was clearly still harbouring bitterness at Arthur, so close to falling completely in her trap, having returned to Camelot knowing the circumstances surrounding his mother's death, and not only had he spared Uther but seemed to have forged a stronger relationship with the king after everything.   
  
Morgana held her tongue at present, just as she had when Morgause first unravelled this scene to her. As much as it appalled her to know how and why Igraine had passed, she was glad that Arthur had, for whatever reason, found the wherewithal to stay his sword; she knew regret would have consumed him in the aftermath, and he'd hate himself for the rest of his life. It was better this way; she'd spare him the trouble, and the hurt, of taking Uther's life, and she wouldn't regret it, not as much.   
  
As if catching on to Morgana's inner thoughts, Morgause went on, easing her mouth into a smile. "But that's why we have you to take the throne. Once you're in place, we can rule Camelot as we wish, and let our people live freely and our magic flourish. You _are_ close?"   
  
It was the question Morgana had been dreading to answer. So much time had gone by and still she had nothing to show for all her efforts; there were days when she felt just a hair's breadth away from accomplishing everything she needed to do, and others, like today, when it seemed like she was no closer to her goal than when she'd first started. She cast a wary glance at Morgause. "I'm afraid," she said, "it hasn't gone as smoothly as I'd initially hoped."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I've been spending as much time as I can with Uther, and I tried to kiss him, but Arthur walked in on it, and--"  
  
"That's as far as you've got?" Morgause interrupted, not bothering to mask her disappointment. "In all this time?"  
  
"Uther does care for me, I know that for a fact. It's just... Getting him to see me in a different light, as a romantic prospect rather than a daughter, isn't going to happen overnight. Especially not when his son is so --"  
  
Morgause leaned forward with intent, her eyes hard. "If Arthur is a problem, get rid of him."  
  
"I --" Morgana blinked, speechless for a moment. "Arthur's my family; maybe not in blood, but I love him and I won't hurt him."  
  
Morgause smiled suddenly. "Of course not; I wouldn't ask you to," she said soothingly. "I only meant that if he's getting in the way, we should find a means of distracting him. Send him elsewhere. Reports of skirmishes on the borders or attacks on the villages; things like that. With him out of the picture, you'll have an easier time getting to Uther, I'm sure."  
  
Mollified, Morgana returned the smile by a fraction.   
  
"Don't worry. You just carry on here, with Uther, and I'll take care of the rest," Morgause said.  
  
"What are you going to do?"  
  
Morgause laid a soft hand on hers. "Leave Arthur to me. He'll have reason enough to leave Camelot within the week." Before Morgana could question her plans again, she rose from her seat. "Uther will be all yours. I know," she said, her voice shifting just a notch into the beginnings of a warning, "you will not fail me."  
  
"No, of course. I won't." Morgana got to her feet as well, feeling like a child, chastened for something she hadn't yet done.   
  
"Good," said Morgause, her eyes bright with approval. She touched her cheek briefly to Morgana's and squeezed her hand. "You must know how proud I am to call you my sister. To know that you will be the one to make things right in this world."  
  
Morgana only nodded uncertainly, the weight of Morgause's words bearing down on her shoulders.  
  
"I know this hasn't been the easiest road for you," Morgause went on, her voice like a gentle caress, "and I have asked much of you. I don't blame you if you have doubts, but know this, Morgana: you are much stronger than you think, and I have the utmost faith in you to do the right thing, and to end our people's suffering for good."  
  
"What if I can't?" Morgana asked, gripped with apprehension.   
  
Morgause smiled softly. "You will."   
  
Leaving those words to settle over the room, Morgause flashed one last encouraging look at Morgana, and sailed out of the chamber, past the stiffly slumbering profile of the night guard. Morgana watched her disappear down the corridor, and carefully shut and locked her door. She leaned against it heavily, the shackles of expectations a bigger burden than ever.


	12. Chapter 12

_Morgause glided through the corridors in silence, crimson silk staining the dull grey of the stone; she didn’t belong. Still, she shimmered along with the confidence of purpose, while behind her, Morgana flitted from shadow to shadow on hushed footsteps, one hand braced over her chest to muffle the pounding of her heart. She should call out to Morgause, she thought, but something kept the words buried in her throat, and that same something made her trail behind in secret._  
  
_They were outside, all of a sudden, on the purlieu of the forest, and there was Arthur, dirt smeared across his face, armour dented and chainmail so tattered it could serve no other purpose than purely decorative. His forehead glistened with sweat, but the shine of his sword was brighter._  
  
_“Arthur Pendragon,” Morgause crooned softly._  
  
_“What do you want?” he asked._  
  
_Morgana, standing almost between them, remained unnoticed; she was dimly aware that there was a conversation going on, but it was a murmured blur that couldn’t penetrate the shriek of her own fear, and her heart sank, knowing she was powerless to stop whatever was going to happen next. She shouted anyway, tried to get Arthur’s attention, but his focus didn’t waver._  
  
_A smile tipped Morgause’s lips, and she raised a palm towards the earth. It trembled to the call of her fingertips._ “Ástandan min næssa gryre _.”_  
  
_There were teeth and claws, horns and spines, and a deafening growl that splintered the trees._  
  
_Pleasure danced across Morgause’s face. “Kill him.”_  
  
Morgana jolted awake, ringing in her ears the mingled sound of her own cries and the sharp crack of her dressing screen as it flew backwards from her unfocussed gaze and smashed against the wall.  
  
Leon crashed into the room, eyes wild and sword poised to strike, bounding towards Morgana’s bed. “Are you all right? What happened?”  
  
She stared at him in mute horror, her throat raw. The vivid red of Arthur’s death slowly faded from her sight, a lambent pre-dawn glow filtering through the windows easing her vision into reality -- her chambers, her bed, pillows and linen -- but terror refused to loosen its grip on her heart, and she reached out, clutched Leon’s hand. “I don’t -- I saw --” she began, words coming in fits and starts like she was finding them piece by piece. “I saw Arthur. Is he -- Is he -- Please, can you check on him?”  
  
“My lady,” Leon said, kneeling at her bedside. He squeezed her hand, and asked again, softly, “Are you all right?”  
  
“Fine,” she whispered, and searched his face imploringly. “Please, see about Arthur?”  
  
With some reluctance, and obviously not believing that she was fine, Leon rose to his feet. “As you wish. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  
  
Morgana watched him go, her heart skipping a beat when he noticed with a slight start the mangled state of her dressing screen, but he made no comment and slipped out of the room. She drew her knees up to her chest, hugging herself tightly. She was no stranger to nightmares, and more terrifying than the images conjured up in her sleeping mind was the fact that she hadn’t yet learned of a way to distinguish dreams from visions. That she had premonitory powers was clear, but whether this was truly a warning about the future, her latent intuition questioning Morgause’s trustworthiness, or merely odds and ends of a troubled sleep, there was no telling.  
  
She drew the back of her hand across her eyes, wiping dry unshed tears. Of course she trusted Morgause; of course she did. Only, unlike most dreams, which wisped away with each waking moment, this one clung to the edges of her memory, its violent imprint seared into her mind’s eye -- the slash of claws and the tang of blood in the air, and Arthur, helpless and dying, and Morgause, smiling, all the while smiling.  
  
She felt as though she might be sick.  
  
Before long, the door eased open again, and Leon let himself in, slightly apologetic, as if he felt he was trespassing. “Prince Arthur is fine. In the pink of health. Though,” he said, one side of his mouth tilting upwards, “not best pleased about being woken this early in the morning.”  
  
Relief flooded through her veins, even as she reprimanded herself for making mountains of molehills, and along with it came a desperate urge to cry. She forced it down, hard.  
  
Leon strode forward suddenly. “You’re shaking,” he said. “Morgana.”  
  
It was his hand on her shoulder that undid her, this human touch, a simple kindness. She was sure she hadn’t imagined him drawing away after witnessing her kiss with Uther, but in spite of whatever he thought of her, here he was offering his warmth again for nothing in return. The knot that had built in her throat multiplied, and burst out of her in a sob so plaintive it startled even her. Instantly, Leon was there, next to her on the bed, slightly stiff and surprised to find a crying girl in his arms, but there all the same, making soothing noises and patting her on the back.  
  
She didn’t know what she was doing -- breaking down like this; coming back to Camelot; trying, nearly single-handedly, to overthrow an iron regime. Compounded by the horrifying vision of Arthur’s death, all her doubts and fears swelled up in that moment, cresting over her self-composure, and came crashing through in tears.  
  
But even among the tumult of emotions fighting for release, there was room for embarrassment, and when she finally managed to rein in the worst of her outburst, Morgana pulled herself slowly from Leon’s arms, grimacing at the wet spot on his tunic in which she’d buried her face.  
  
“I’m sorry, I really am,” she murmured, brushing at it ineffectually, least of all to keep herself busy so as to avoid looking him in the eye and finding something there she didn’t want to see. Pity, maybe. “You must think I’m mad.”  
  
Gingerly, Leon reached out to wipe a fallen tear from the side of her jaw. “Not a bit of it.”  
  
She met his eyes then, no judgment or condescension to be found, only the plain sincerity she’d always admired about him. Her stomach twisted, not unpleasantly, and, like a slow dawn, she realised that her regard for him extended well beyond just that of admiration. Her gaze darted to his mouth.  
  
“Leon,” she said, softly, and his hand lingered at her neck.  
  
A sharp rap at the door sounded, and Morgana jumped a little, the spell broken and embarrassment back full-bore. She cleared her throat, not quite knowing what else to do.  
  
Leon slid off the edge of the bed, discovering a fascination with his boots. “I should get that,” he said eventually, and scuttled to the door, returning a moment later with a small cup. “I asked one of the maids if she might bring you some tea with a bit of honey in. I thought you might need it. After all the, er, screaming.”  
  
Morgana’s hand lifted to her throat. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said in a small voice, and, now that she thought about it, a rather hoarse one as well. She accepted the tea gratefully, cupping both hands around it, its warmth seeping through her fingers. “It’s just -- I have these dreams sometimes.”  
  
Her eyes fell on the broken screen involuntarily; he followed her gaze, and she remembered, with no small amount of anxiety, that this wasn’t the first time he’d seen the after-effects of her nightmares. She couldn’t blame a wayward elbow this time for damage done halfway across the room, nor were there any open windows that might have let in a draught. Her heart froze in her chest as she saw him take stock of the same, but as his attention came to rest on her again, there was nothing in his face to indicate suspicion or condemnation, just the same gentleness she knew.  
  
With slight hesitance, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
She did. She wanted to pour everything out -- the ones that kept her awake at night for fear of dreaming them again; the ones that veered down a different path in reality; the ones that never came true at all -- but instead she shook her head. As much as she wanted to trust him, she knew that revealing anything about her true self would only lead to complications, and distractions were the last thing she needed right now, so close to changing everything. He might be sympathetic, given his compassionate nature, but she’d been burned once before in giving her trust to someone she’d thought was a friend. Leon’s loyalty to the crown, while commendable in any other circumstance, would no doubt present problems if she let slip any inkling about her subterfuge, the worst of which was the real possibility that he would think less of her. And that shouldn’t matter a whit, what anyone else thought of her, but with Leon, inexplicably, it did.  
  
“No, it’s all right; they’re only dreams,” Morgana said, forcing a smile. It melted into a genuine one as she added, “But thank you. You’ve been so kind.”  
  
He nodded, a little bashfully, looking out of his depth, and shuffled towards the door. “I should get back to my post,” Leon said, his hand cradling the iron handle. “If you need anything at all, you know where to find me. Get some rest, my lady.”  
  
Morgana tipped her head in thanks, and leaned back against the headboard, watching the door glide shut. She turned her face to the sunrise, bathed in its pink light, and thought about second chances.  
  


* * *

  
  
After having been awoken by Leon at an ungodly hour early this morning, Arthur had assumed that he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep once more, so it came as a surprise to him when the sound of birds chirping through the tiny crack in the window pulled him from his slumber. Arthur groaned, reluctantly sticking his head above the sheets, mid-morning sun filling the room with its light. He forced himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs around until his feet made contact with the cold stone floor, all the while wondering where Merlin was. Usually he was poking and prodding and ordering Arthur to wake up long before the sun had risen so high, so why had he not done so this morning as well?  
  
In the middle of his reflections, there was a knock from the other side of Arthur’s chamber door.  
  
“Enter,” he called out, brow furrowing in confusion. Since when did Merlin knock? In fact, beyond the first couple of days of his employment in the royal household, Merlin made a regular habit of _not_ knocking. Ever.  
  
Arthur watched expectantly, several clever retorts waiting eagerly on the tip of his tongue, but just as he was about to spill them, he was forced to rein himself in. Merlin was not the one who entered his chambers. Instead, a scrawny blond serving boy was in his place, carrying Arthur’s breakfast on a tray that appeared far too large for him to handle.  
  
“Who are you?” Arthur asked, before he could prevent the words from slipping past his lips.  
  
The boy froze on the spot, glancing hesitantly up at Arthur before hurriedly averting his gaze once more. It was obvious he wasn’t used to being addressed by royalty and had been trained to show proper deference to his prince. The contrast between this boy and Merlin was startling.  
  
“My name is Harold, sire,” he squawked out pitifully, moving to lay Arthur’s breakfast out for him.  
  
Pushing off the bed, Arthur padded slowly across the room. “Harold, do you know where my regular servant, Merlin, is?”  
  
Shaking his head, Harold kept his eyes lowered and attention focussed on the task at hand. “I’m afraid I don’t, my lord. I was just asked to bring you your breakfast and tend to you this morning.”  
  
Arthur frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that, though it certainly wouldn’t be the first time his lazy servant accidentally slept through his morning chores. Still, given Merlin’s recent behaviour and sullen mood, something like worry struck at the back of Arthur’s mind, insistent and pervading, and he couldn’t quite let it go, no matter how many reassurances he tried to give himself.  
  
Taking it upon himself to wash and dress independently -- servants had always assisted him with dressing, but Arthur had grown accustomed to the intimacy he shared with Merlin; the idea of someone else taking over felt oddly _wrong_ to him now -- Arthur excused himself without so much as tossing a second glance at his breakfast. He could eat later.  
  
It wasn’t that he was _afraid_ , exactly. Worry was too strong a word, even. What Arthur felt could only be classified as something slightly more than indifference, but somewhat less than concern. And he wasn’t tracking down a wayward servant, because princes didn’t do things like that, so he’d been told. No, Arthur was merely heading over to speak with Gaius, should anyone question him, and if he happened to inquire about Merlin while he was there, well that was his personal business and of no concern to anyone else, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince himself, or fabricate a believable lie on the off-chance that he might need it. The reality was that Arthur cared about Merlin, plain and simple, and he wasn’t sure why he felt the need to continue to justify his actions.  
  
Throwing the concern aside, Arthur knocked lightly on Gaius’ door before pushing it open and stepping into his workshop.  
  
“Ah, sire,” Gaius said, smiling warmly and gesturing him inside. “I assume you’re here about Merlin?”  
  
Arthur blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that sort of frankness from Gaius, but then again, it wasn’t so surprising, considering with whom he shared quarters. Well, there was no point in denying it now. “Yeah. He didn’t show up this morning and I came over here to haul his lazy arse out of bed.”  
  
The lie sounded ridiculous even to Arthur’s own ears, and the knowing look Gaius gave Arthur only confirmed that neither of them was buying his claim.  
  
Still, Gaius held his tongue on the subject. “I have to apologise, sire. It’s my fault that Merlin did not show up to attend you this morning. He was up half the night coughing and sneezing. By the time he did finally fall asleep it was nearly time for him to wake up again. So I allowed him to sleep and sent another servant to find a replacement.”  
  
Come to think of it, Merlin hadn’t looked all that great last night either, when he’d come to turn down Arthur’s bed and stoke the fire one final time for the evening. “Yes, he seemed as though he was coming down with something yesterday,” he said thoughtfully, nodding. “I think you made the right decision, Gaius. Whenever he wakes, please inform him that I’ve granted him the day off in which to recuperate.”  
  
“Thank you, sire. I’m sure he’ll be most appreciative.” Gaius ducked his head respectfully, and then returned to the supplies on the table, apparently continuing with whatever he’d been working on before Arthur’s interruption.  
  
For a few foolish moments, Arthur considered asking Gaius if he could _see_ Merlin, just to be sure that he was, in fact, all right. It was absolutely ludicrous that this idea should be running through his mind. Of course Merlin was fine. There was no reason to suspect otherwise, and he scolded himself for allowing his emotions to interfere with logic. Maybe there was some legitimacy to his father’s claim that emotional attachment impacted the ability to think rationally after all. Shaking the thought from his head, Arthur forced his legs to carry him over the threshold, heading back to his chambers, already dreading the notion of spending the day without Merlin by his side.  


* * *

  
  
A perfect picture of stealth, Merlin peered out of his room; he’d heard Arthur leave and shut the door to the workroom about five minutes ago, but he couldn’t be too careful if he wanted to get on with the plan that had formulated in his brain ever since the night before, long after his initial talk with Gaius had passed. If he was being honest with himself, it hadn’t so much formulated as gathered into a barely cohesive mess of thoughts, but he had to act quickly, and his fever wasn’t doing much to help his cognitive processes along.  
  
He’d tried to look for Gwen last night before getting Arthur ready for bed, but had only discovered that Morgana had dismissed her early for the night and she’d gone home before he could speak with her. In any case, he wasn’t sure there was anything Gwen could do anymore about Morgana, not the way things were going now. He’d seen Morgause last night, and even without any further information beyond that of her presence, he knew it spelled no end of trouble.  
  
Ignoring the dull tightness all up and down his body that seemed to have coagulated into one giant, Merlin-shaped ache, he pulled off his night clothes and shoved on whatever happened to be lying around until he looked just presentable enough.  
  
No sooner had he stepped out of his room, however, than Gaius looked up from his workbench and uttered a short exclamation of protest. “What are you doing out of bed, Merlin? I thought I told you to rest.”  
  
“I feel much better,” Merlin lied, trying not to cringe at the effect his congestion had on his speech. He wiped his nose hastily.  
  
Gaius lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t _look_ much better. I’ve seen ghosts looking healthier than you do.”  
  
“Trust me; I’m fine. And I’ve got -- you know, chores to do and things.”  
  
“Ah, well, Arthur came by to look for you but once he found out you were sick, he said you could have the day off.”  
  
“That,” said Merlin, “doesn’t sound like Arthur.”  
  
“He cares about you, Merlin. Even if he does only show it once a year,” Gaius said, a small smile tipping the corners of his mouth.  
  
Merlin screwed his face into a thoughtful frown. He couldn’t think about Arthur just now, or about his equivocation about Morgana’s intentions; he hated lying to Gaius, and worse still was being forced to lie to Arthur, but there would be time to deal with that later, hopefully after he’d managed to foil whatever Morgana was doing.  
  
“Well, then, I don’t want to waste it on this piddling little illness, do I?”  
  
“Are you going to stand there and argue with me all day if I don’t let you out?” Gaius asked, already looking well aware of where this was going.  
  
“Yes?” Merlin said, and tried on his most winning smile.  
  
He appreciated Gaius’ concern, really he did. And at any other time -- barring military attacks, magical creatures wreaking havoc, plots to overthrow the king -- he would have been more than happy to remain in bed for the entire day and be fussed over, but he could feel Camelot’s destruction at hand and if he didn’t do something about it, no one else would.  
  
But he couldn’t tell Gaius that after he’d put Arthur to bed last night, he thought he’d seen Morgause in the castle, coming away from Morgana’s room. For one thing, he’d only caught a brief glimpse of her, and for another, there had been no one in the corridor when he’d gone for a closer look. Even at the best of times Gaius had a tendency to keep his impulses in check with that calm, cautious logic of his, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse, and this time, Merlin didn’t want to hear all the reasons why he shouldn’t trust what he’d seen. He knew Gaius would find a way to talk him out of it, and he’d listen, even if he couldn’t let go of his suspicions; adding in the fact that he was ill, it would probably all be ascribed to a fevered hallucination and Gaius would get all up in arms about him being unwell and send him to bed again with something foul to drink.  
  
Gaius made a tutting noise and then sighed. “Well, all right, if you must. But not without taking your medicine first,” he said, reaching for a collection of small bottles full of questionable, murky liquid.  
  
Holding his nose, Merlin downed it and did his best not to throw it right back up. “Okay, that’s over with. I’ll be off, then.”  
  
Shaking his head, Gaius waved him out of the room.  
  
Merlin shut the door quietly behind himself and stood in the hallway, still, for a moment so he could gather his thoughts, which had unravelled into loose threads that he was having trouble connecting again. There was first the mild panic that his glimpse of Morgause _had_ been a split-second delusion and he was going off to chase ghosts; but if it wasn’t -- if it wasn’t just an apparition, that meant that Morgana might still be in league with the sorceress, and she was so much more dangerous than Morgana. Merlin had seen her powers first-hand, and they were frankly terrifying; though he’d defeated his fair share of adversaries in his time, he had no idea how well he’d stand up to Morgause if they had to be pitted against one another. And if he was right about her presence, it seemed more than likely that things would end that way.  
  
Where that would lead him wasn’t a thought he really wanted to entertain; come the moment, he knew he’d do whatever it took to protect his friends and his home, and it would leave him exposed as a sorcerer and traitor to the crown. After that... Well, then he’d die.  
  
Avoiding the paths Arthur usually took, Merlin strode through the castle as confidently as he could, trying not to look like someone who was about to sneak into Morgana’s chambers and riffle through all her belongings to search for proof that she was in cahoots with Morgause. It was a long shot, by any stretch of the imagination; that there would be anything in there that could pass for incriminating evidence was unlikely in the first place, and that Morgana would be so stupid as to leave it lying around was a gamble of even worse odds.  
  
But boldly going around looking for physical proof of other people’s lies had served him uncommonly well in the past, and perhaps if fortune favoured him this morning, it just might work again. And then again, perhaps it was as Arthur always said, and Merlin was just an idiot.  
  
Still, there was no telling which way it would go unless he actually went ahead with it, and Merlin swallowed his anxiety and carried on, slowing as he neared Morgana’s room, hoping with all his might that she was away. If all else failed, however, he could just pretend he was coming over to tell her about his conversation with Arthur and all the lovely little lies he’d told to keep Morgana’s secrets from Arthur. No doubt she’d be wondering anyway if he had done as she’d said, and if she happened to be in her chambers he’d save her the trouble of tracking him down and threatening him some more.  
  
Luck seemed to be on his side for the time being; Sir Leon was nowhere to be seen, and since he’d been assigned to watch over Morgana during the day, it most likely meant that Morgana had already left her room in his company. In his stead, there was a guard stationed in front of the closed doors to deter any potential intruders; his sword was sheathed, but Merlin knew it would be pointed in his face in a trice if he went about this the wrong way. Thankfully, unlike the knights, Camelot’s sentries weren’t well-known for their quick wit, and Merlin came forwards, smiling as brightly as he could through the haze of his illness.  
  
“Morning, sir,” he said, and received a nod of acknowledgement. “Ah, the prince sent me to find out if the Lady Morgana had risen yet.”  
  
“Set out on a walk about ten minutes ago,” said the guard, bored.  
  
“Oh, good, then I won’t be disturbing her ladyship. Prince Arthur,” he said, putting slight emphasis on Arthur’s name, “wanted me to fetch something for him from her rooms.”  
  
Without fanfare, without so much as looking him in the eye, the guard stepped aside and waved him into the room, swinging the door shut helpfully after he’d crossed the threshold. Merlin was briefly thankful for the man’s lack of investigative skills, but made a mental note that if Arthur was ever put under similar protection, he’d make sure to take up a second line of defence right behind them because the whole lot of them were plainly useless.  
  
Combing the room with a glance, Merlin saw nothing particularly out of the ordinary. Apart from her dressing screen apparently having been moved elsewhere, it looked as much as it ever had; furniture still in the same place, the bed made and pulled and tucked to the point of geometric perfection -- that was Gwen’s handiwork, brushes and mirrors lined neatly on top of the dressing table. Merlin rummaged through the wardrobe, stuck his head under the bed, pulled open every available cabinet and drawer and, with what little time he had, even checked the walls for false stones, but came up empty. The lack of letters from Morgause with instructions on how to kill Uther was disappointing, but Merlin knew he’d never had much chance of finding anything truly helpful anyway.  
  
He snatched up a book at random, throwing a merry, “Found it!” at the guard on his way out, and silently thanked whatever gods were looking out for him that no one had been the wiser. Even though he hadn’t found anything to prove Morgana’s treachery, it still wouldn’t have looked very good for him had anyone found him sneaking about. He walked towards Arthur’s chambers with the day’s chores running through his head, figuring that since he was up and about anyway he might as well make himself useful.  
  
Or at least as useful as a servant could be, assuming that servant didn’t know that the king’s ward was executing some nefarious plan against Camelot and was aided by a known and dangerous sorceress. Merlin set the book down and set to straightening out Arthur’s bed linen, frowning to himself. He had no proof of what Morgana was doing; hell, he didn’t even know _what_ exactly Morgana was doing. If he went to Arthur right now and told him everything he knew, Arthur would likely just cuff him on the ear and say it was to jar his brain into working order again. And that was the best case scenario. He couldn’t very well divulge anything of Morgana’s secrets without putting his own in jeopardy, and he had absolutely no doubt that in retaliation Morgana would spill every detail and milk every last drop of his attempt to poison her.  
  
Merlin gave the sheet a vicious tug, the ache in his muscles still very much present, and he scrubbed his face with one hand, as much to dry it of the sheen of sweat his fever kept giving him as to try to purge the weariness from his person. He sniffled, out of necessity, and smiled wanly to himself, remembering the rare concern Arthur had explicitly shown him the day before; if he saw Merlin now he’d probably accuse him of crying and then demand to know how to fix everything.  
  
Was he being selfish? Cowardly? For self-preservation, to remain in Arthur’s good graces, he would let his suspicions about Morgana go unsaid. But even as it made him feel wretched to keep all this from Arthur, there was a part of him too that wanted to hold on to the information for just a little longer, for just enough time to let Morgana change her mind. He knew there was something still in her that held Camelot and its people dear; he knew she still loved Arthur like family, and he was, perhaps vainly so, counting on that to turn the tide. He’d seen the doubts, the fear in her eyes, the hesitation to take his life, even though he’d tried to take hers. There was still something _good_ in Morgana. If he turned on her now, if he chose to reveal what she was and backed her into a corner -- never mind the consequences for his own future -- she might lose her moral compass for good.  
  
And as much as it made for wishful thinking, Merlin could only hope that she would choose to come round of her own free will. He couldn’t make it so; she wasn’t willing to listen to him and he couldn’t blame her for that, but the Morgana he once knew, underneath the hauteur and icy beauty, brimmed with compassion. She’d once ridden with him to fight a fight that wasn’t hers, once saved a little boy’s life at the risk of her own, and time and again openly questioned Uther’s laws when no one else dared to speak up for the innocent. And maybe, if they were lucky, that Morgana would find her way back.


	13. Chapter 13

It only took a few minutes in Gwen's company the following morning for Morgana to notice that something was off with her maidservant. She bustled about the room, rearranging items and tidying things that were already neatly arranged, only answering Morgana's questions with one or two words, and trailing off mid-way through every other sentence. After the third time she heard Gwen mutter, 'I'm sorry, what did you say, my lady?' did she decide that enough was enough already.  
  
"I can tell that you have something on your mind, Gwen, so you might as well just come out with it," Morgana said, when she could take the sudden silence no longer, casting a sidelong glance at her maidservant.  
  
In fact, if her suspicions were correct, there was only one topic in particular which Gwen intended to broach with her, and she began to mentally prepare herself for the impending conversation.  
  
Much to her surprise, there were no protests or denials on Gwen's part. She merely nodded, setting the new vase she held back down on the night stand, and turned to face her mistress. "Look, Morgana, you know that I care about you, right? And that I'd never bring something up unless I was truly concerned?"  
  
Already, this conversation wasn't looking overly optimistic, but it was easy to see where it was going, and so Morgana nodded, smiling reassuringly at Gwen. "Of course I know that, Gwen. Please, talk to me." She gestured for Gwen to join her at the table, and with only a brief pause, Gwen seemed to set aside any misgivings she may have had and sidled up to the table, sinking into the empty chair at her hip.  
  
Gwen bit her lip, dark eyes filled with worry and doubt, and her expression was so intense that Morgana had to hold herself back from demanding that Gwen spit it out already. But it was obviously taking no small amount of courage on Gwen's part, and so she forced herself to be patient and wait, even when her mind was screaming that she wanted to be done with this as quickly as possible.  
  
"What's going on between you and Uther?" Gwen finally asked, voice barely an echo against the chamber walls. "I ran into Arthur earlier today and he-- he told me. About what happened. With you. And the king."  
  
For several beats, Morgana considered playing dumb, denying that she knew what Gwen was referring to, but she knew it would only prolong the inevitable. The information had come from a reliable source, unfortunately, but even if it hadn't, Gwen was no fool. She'd grown suspicious of Morgana's intentions a number of weeks ago, and this new information would only serve to confirm whatever theories she may have possessed.  
  
"I don't know," she said at long last. It certainly couldn't have been a satisfying response, but in her efforts to keep Gwen free from her litany of lies, it was the only genuine answer Morgana could provide.  
  
"I can't begin to imagine what you went through when you were gone for all those months," Gwen said, as Morgana bit back the wave of shame that washed over her, for allowing Gwen to continue to believe that lie, even if it hadn't been told to her directly, -- "but I've noticed you've been acting, well, _strange_ since your return, especially when you've been in the king's company. At first, I thought it was because you were scared and didn't want to admit it. Then the rumours started around the castle, but still I brushed them off. But then, well, I, er-- I spoke with Arthur earlier today, and I wasn't sure what to think any longer. I know this is none of my business, and that I have no right to say anything at all about this to you, but I'm, um--" Gwen reached out and took one of Morgana's hands in her own, squeezing it gently. "I'm _worried_ about you, Morgana."  
  
Regret clenched at Morgana's stomach painfully, twisting and turning, not for the first time since her return to Camelot.  
  
"I--" she started, then stopped herself, because what could she say to that, really? Gwen certainly could not be faulted for interpreting her behaviour as being cause for concern, even more so given the limited information she was working with, and Morgana was quite confident that she would react in a similar fashion if the situation had been reversed. Gathering her thoughts, she attempted to assuage Gwen's fears. "I appreciate your concern, and I certainly can't blame you for being worried about my behaviour. I know it may seem-- somewhat _erratic_ , at times. But please believe me when I say that I'm fine, that everything will work out for the best, in the end."  
  
The crinkle of Gwen's nose spoke louder than any words to express just what she felt about that claim, but Morgana could hardly blame her. What was she supposed to think, especially when Morgana had purposefully kept her in the dark as a means of protecting her from harm? To ask for her trust at this point was presumptuous at best, yet knowing Gwen's loyal nature, it was not altogether impossible that she would still offer it willingly anyway.  
  
"Forgive my forwardness, my lady, but does working out for the best include starting up a relationship with the king -- someone who has treated and loved you as a daughter all your life?"  
  
Holding back a sigh, Morgana tried without success to ignore the flood of images that appeared in her mind's eye -- Uther presenting her with a flower after she'd fallen and scraped a knee, the time when he'd ordered an extravagant dress made for her after a visiting princess had 'accidentally' destroyed hers (though Uther would publicly deny that he was trying to show up their guests in any way, even though they both knew the truth), the way he used to sit in her room with a smile while she rambled on about her day despite the fact that he probably had far more important affairs to attend to. A feeling of peace settled over her for a moment as she basked in these memories, before shaking them clear from her head. Just because he'd demonstrated the rare moment of compassion or affection for her in the past didn't change the cruelty within his soul for the way in which he slaughtered her people now. "It's... complicated, Gwen."  
  
A concerned frown marred Gwen's usually pleasant features, worry lines creasing her forehead, and she suddenly looked several years older. "I know you care for him, but..." There was a question, or possibly an implication tucked in amongst her words.  
  
"I'm not in love with him, if that's what you're thinking," Morgana said, staring down at the table as her index finger idly traced the lines from the wood along its surface.  
  
"Then what are you doing?" Gwen asked, gentle, but clearly bothered all the same.  
  
It was a loaded question requiring an even more loaded answer. To be honest, Morgana wasn't even entirely sure what she was doing any longer. Of course she _knew_ ; she was trying to liberate her people from the lifetime of oppression and fear that'd enslaved them for so long under Uther's reign. She wanted to provide them with freedom from an existence of constant fear, freedom to be themselves and to share with the world who they truly were. But over the past several days, she was beginning to doubt the rightness of her plans -- not the end goal itself, but the means by which she was hoping to accomplish it. That there may have been other options hadn't passed through her mind until recently, but now that the idea had been planted, she couldn't help but wonder if this was truly the only way to effect change.  
  
"I don't know." She'd already provided that response once this conversation, but she wasn't sure what else there was to say. Had Gwen posed this same question a week or two ago, she was more than certain that her reply would have been altogether different. She was doing what was right, what was necessary -- wasn't she?  
  
Gwen's quiet voice interrupted her brief reverie. "And what of Sir Leon in all of this?"   
  
Snapping her head up to stare at Gwen, Morgana made a weak attempt to appear nonplussed by the comment, but failed miserably, if Gwen's raised eyebrows were any indication.  
  
"What about him?" she asked, making a play at ignorance as she tried to overlook the way her heart skipped at the mention of his name, though the likelihood of Gwen falling for it was slim to none.  
  
" _Morgana_ ," Gwen pressed, leaning forward as she continued to stare knowingly in her general direction.  
  
"He's been my personal guard for several weeks now, so naturally we've begun to get to know one another. Leon is a wonderful, honourable man whom I'd be proud to call my friend." Her eyes flickered almost unconsciously towards the door, knowing that he still stood watch on the other side, and with that single gesture she seemed to confirm with her body language what she'd denied with her mouth.  
  
"And I'm sure he, too, would like to call you friend. Though I'm quite certain he would like to call you much more than just a 'friend'," Gwen said, as though she held onto a deep secret that she was about to impart out of the kindness of her heart.  
  
Morgana felt her heart jump up into her throat. "What are you talking about? Stop being silly, Gwen," she chided, ignoring the slightly hopeful lilt to her voice, even as she could feel her face slowly warming.  
  
Folding her arms, Gwen gave Morgana a disbelieving look, as if she couldn't possibly believe they needed to have this conversation at all. "Look, I may not be around you all the time, but that doesn't mean I'm blind either. I've seen the way he looks at you, the way he smiles when you talk, and even when you're not looking at him at all. I've seen the way you drag him with you everywhere you go, sometimes disappearing for hours at a time. And before you tell me that you have to have him with you all the time, keep in mind that his duty is to protect you, not to walk and talk for hours in the castle gardens. He can see you at all times when you're outside. There's no need for him to walk by your side as you wander _through_ them. He obviously cares about you, and I think that you care about him too."  
  
Morgana blinked as the flush heated her entire face now, and she clenched her jaw, feeling like a thief caught redhanded, with nowhere to run. "It's not that I-- I just--" She fumbled for the right words, not sure she could openly admit such a thing out loud just yet, which was probably telling in and of itself. "I suppose you could say-- Well, er, yes," she finally acquiesced, feeling as though something had inexplicably and irreversibly changed with that admission.  
  
A beat passed, and then, "So if you have feelings for Leon, then what's going on with Uther?"  
  
There it was, then. A completely fair question for which Morgana had no logical answer, without revealing what was actually going on, and unfortunately, that was not an option.  
  
"Morgana, look, I'm not necessarily asking for an explanation," Gwen said, when Morgana remained silent, holding up both hands in a sign of mock surrender. "I'm just… _confused_. None of it makes any sense to me."  
  
She wasn't the only one. This was supposed to be a relatively straight-forward plan: seduce the king, convince him to make her his queen, secure the throne, and pave the way for Arthur, along with ensuring freedom from persecution for magic users. Nowhere in the plan did it dictate that she was supposed to feel regret or confusion over what she was doing, or to drag several innocent people into the whole mess, and there certainly wasn't room for developing feelings for someone else. This was becoming all so unbelievably complicated.  
  
Two quick raps at the door interrupted the conversation, perhaps for the better, and before she could even respond, the door was pushed open to reveal Uther. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking as though he perhaps wished to flee the vicinity, but had resolved to do whatever he'd come to do regardless of his own feelings on the matter. It did not look promising. Gwen immediately rose, bowing her head in reverence for her king, while Morgana stared expectantly, a tightness coiling in her chest at the sight of him.   
  
"I would like a moment alone with Morgana," he said, any traces of what he was thinking or feeling carefully masked from her.  
  
Gwen remained standing with her head bowed low, but Morgana could see the tension coiling in her shoulders all the same.  
  
"It's all right, Gwen. You may take the rest of the evening off," she said kindly, shooting her an apologetic smile.  
  
With a quick nod and a barely audible 'thank you', Gwen hurried out of the room, closing the door snugly in her wake.  
  
Which left Morgana alone to contend with Uther. He coughed into his hand, gaze darting down to the floor for a brief moment. It was an odd sight, to see the king of Camelot looking so out of his element, and it brought her far less joy than it might have done a few weeks prior.  
  
"May I speak with you?" he asked.  
  
Morgana nodded and rose from the table. "Of course."  
  
"About what happened yesterday--" Uther started, then stopped. It was clear that he was hesitating, and if the pained expression on his face was anything to go by, this did not bode well for Morgana. Then again, what exactly did she expect? Having grown up in the royal household, raised as one of Uther's own children and granted virtually all the same privileges as Arthur, did she truly believe it was possible to reverse the relationship that they'd established over more than ten years in little less than a month?  
  
She swallowed heavily and bit the inside of her cheek in anticipation, already mentally preparing for the rejection she knew was coming.  
  
Taking a couple of tentative steps forwards, Uther reached out a hand as though to touch her, but he pulled back at the last moment, hand dropping to his side instead. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry. About what happened."  
  
She blinked back surprise, mouth falling open ever so slightly, and Uther appeared to take her silence as a cue to continue speaking. "I know that you've been under a great deal of stress since you escaped from your captors, even though you try to hide it, and for that I blame myself."  
  
Her eyebrows crinkled in confusion and she was surprised with the genuineness with which the words left her mouth. "Why would you say such a thing?"   
  
"I should have found you. I never should have rested until you'd been rescued. But I failed you, and for that, I will never be able to forgive myself." This time he did reach out to touch her upper arm, gazing down at her with what could only be described as true affection. "You've been confused and hurt and I took advantage of that vulnerability."  
  
"But, my lord--"  
  
"No," he shook his head, interrupting her attempt at protest. "No. I should have been more diligent in watching out for you since your return. I understand, now, that you were only trying to gain my attention. But I promise you that you have it now, and that I will do everything in my power to protect you in the future. I hope you know that you are very important to me, and that I love you as if you were my own daughter."  
  
The words were so unexpected that she found she could do little more than nod dumbly at his declaration as her brain struggled to process the information.  
  
"Good," Uther responded with a smile, seemingly satisfied. "Well, I suppose I should leave you be."  
  
His hand cupped her cheek briefly before he turned on his heel and strode confidently out of the room, leaving Morgana feeling more confused and conflicted than she'd ever felt before.  
  


* * *

  
  
Of all the times Merlin could have chosen to show initiative in carrying out his duties as Arthur's manservant, this probably ranked among the dumbest. Arthur might have seen this coming -- there was some little defect in Merlin's brain that wildly reinterpreted every other order handed to him, hence rat stew and downing poison and repeatedly riding into trees.   
  
Quiet, Arthur clicked his chamber doors shut. He loomed over the bearskin rug at his fireplace for a moment, wondering just how _Take the day off, Merlin_ could have possibly been misconstrued as _Polish one of my boots, Merlin, and have a midday nap on my hearth_. He knew Gaius had heard him perfectly well and would have passed along the message in full, so the problem obviously lay with the man currently curled up on the floor, dead to the world.   
  
At his feet, Merlin snuffled, content in repose and a job half done. Not far from one outstretched hand stood a single boot, its toe shining.   
  
Arthur sighed, getting on his haunches and intending to shake Merlin awake, but upon closer inspection, withdrew his hand. Merlin on his best days was pale, but he was nearing translucence now, a clammy sheen to his skin that made it clear that he'd neglected to take his sanctioned time off in favour of pushing through his illness instead, stubbornly forcing physical labour on himself to prove some kind of point.   
  
With his manservant passed out in the middle of the room, Arthur hadn't taken notice of much else when he'd first come in, but now that he had caught up with events, he could see his armour clean and stacked carefully in one corner, the absence of the nearly sentient pile of dirty laundry behind his dressing screen, books and papers organized in a fashion that didn't involve the floor. Arthur regarded each new discovery with a tightening frown; Merlin had done what usually amounted, for him, to a week's worth of work just to show that he could.   
  
"You," murmured Arthur, "are _such_ an idiot."   
  
He dithered for a second, wanting to leave Merlin be to let him get the rest he so obviously needed, but sleeping on the floor wasn't exactly the most effective method of recuperation, so Arthur angled an arm underneath him and hefted him upwards as gently as he could.   
  
"Come on," Arthur said bracingly to the limp rag in his arms. "To bed with you."  
  
Despite all the jostling, Merlin's eyes barely opened. He mumbled something incoherent as Arthur shifted his weight, head lolling and lips brushing against Arthur's skin. A frisson of excitement raced through Arthur's veins, involuntarily, inappropriately, and he froze mid-step, as if it would halt the course his imagination had embarked upon without warning, a picture of Merlin's mouth pressed against his neck, warm and breathy and --  
  
"Stop it," Arthur said to himself, tamping the heady feeling down until common sense finally slunk back into place.   
  
He looked at Merlin's pasty profile. _Contagious_ , Arthur thought. That must be it. Contagious delirium.   
  
Pushing away the immediate thought that formed, in his own traitorous voice, that there wasn't any such thing, Arthur dragged Merlin to the bed and bundled him into it, yanking off his boots before tucking him underneath the sheets. He perched himself on the edge of the bed, uncertain, and his hands itched without the touch of Merlin in them.   
  
More indecipherable sounds emerged from Merlin's mouth, the whimpers and groans of the uncomfortably ill, and Arthur thought he caught his name among them.   
  
"I'm here," he said, feeling immediately foolish for responding to what could just as easily have been a string of verbal nonsense. Struck with the necessity of making himself as useful and unsentimental as possible, Arthur pressed the back of his hand to Merlin's neck, still warm from the fever that had plagued him earlier this morning -- a bit too warm for Arthur's liking, and he propelled himself off the bed, marching to the doors.   
  
It didn't take long to find a servant passing by. It was part of a servant's duties, after all, to lurk out of sight and reappear at a moment's notice -- something Merlin had never quite managed to grasp, constantly underfoot and too loud in his brightness, except when things needed scrubbing, but it had long since ceased to vex Arthur. Any other servant might know how to dust a mantelpiece properly or fold instead of crumple a shirt, but Merlin outshone everyone else by miles where it counted, and Arthur knew where his priorities lay.   
  
"Fetch me a bowl of water and a towel, will you?" said Arthur to the servant girl. "And get whatever medicine Gaius was administering to Merlin this morning. Quickly."  
  
Mission accomplished, Arthur spun on his heel to face the bed, expelling a terse sigh at the sight of Merlin fidgeting underneath the covers, tugging this way and that as if he couldn't decide whether he was too hot or too cold.   
  
Merlin emitted an unhappy, stilted groan, half his face mashed into the pillow. And then, unmistakeably, " _Arthur_."  
  
In less than a second Arthur was at his bedside again, overflowing with an unfamiliar feeling of solicitude, willing Merlin to get better by the strength of his presence alone. He didn't like seeing Merlin like this, ashen with exhaustion and infection and god only knew what else Merlin had put himself through. Arthur knew there were things Merlin kept from him, and that was his right, after all -- it wasn't Arthur's place, royalty or not, to demand full disclosure of whatever personal life Merlin managed to cultivate during off hours, especially as he wasn't sure, sometimes, that he wanted to know what little secrets Merlin nursed in the dark of his heart. But there was no hiding the fact that underneath the silly smiles and bumbling limbs and stupid questions, Merlin had a will of steel and the heart to back it up, a vitality that filled rooms, and its lack, this enervation and quiet, was glaring.   
  
Arthur picked sullenly at a bit of lint on the hem of his blanket, mouth twisting and jaw clenching shut like he was afraid he might give voice to his thoughts. It wasn't as though he'd never seen Merlin sick before, and it wasn't as though Merlin hadn't steadily been wilting before his eyes for the past few months, but it had all come to a head now, Merlin laid up in bed, practically unconscious, fevered and muttering, and a spike of guilt seized Arthur's insides. _I should have taken better care of him._  
  
It was a preposterous thought, considering who he was and what he was, but Arthur found that he couldn't dismiss it out of hand. He could have done more for Merlin, could have offered more than his presence and his royalty. Merlin _mattered_.   
  
Almost grudgingly, Arthur slid his fingers along Merlin's forehead, unsticking the damp fringe that had plastered itself there, and his fingertips of their own accord traced the smooth, fine edge of Merlin's cheek.   
  
A polite cough sounded behind him, and Arthur's hand dropped at once. He whipped his head around, seeing Gwen in the doorway, cradling a bowl of water in one arm, a clean square of cloth and a small bottle in her other hand. Her expression spoke nothing of what she'd witnessed.   
  
"Guinevere," Arthur said, a little too loudly, shooting off the bed.   
  
"My lord." She tipped her head at him, coming forwards and placing everything gently on the nightstand. "I ran into Eleanor on her way to Gaius' rooms and thought I'd give her a hand. How's Merlin doing?"  
  
"Fine. Er," said Arthur, "I mean, not fine."   
  
One corner of Gwen's mouth lifted ever so slightly upwards, and if Arthur didn't know any better he could have sworn she was gleaning some kind of amusement from this. He tried not to narrow his eyes at her.   
  
She held out an amber bottle, and Arthur took it, mutely. "Gaius said to give Merlin half a dose of this whenever he wakes up next, and then again come morning. He should feel much better by then."  
  
Maybe they were intentional, maybe not, but Arthur felt the implications curl around him as he pocketed the precious vial -- that he would be there when Merlin awoke, that Merlin would still be in his bed through the night, that nursing Merlin back to health was Arthur's responsibility. Arthur cleared his throat and grunted, unsteadily, "Yes, all right."   
  
Gwen smiled, gentle approbation in her eyes. "You care for him a great deal, don't you?"  
  
Arthur felt his eyes widen before he could stop them. "Er," he said, eloquent as ever, his brain working so furiously to come up with a clever rejoinder it put all other functions out of working order, and Arthur's mouth opened and closed a few times uselessly. "Ah, well," he coughed, picking up the words from distant memories of when he was still capable of normal speech, "it's such a hassle finding new manservants."   
  
"Is it?" she asked conversationally, and dipped the cloth into the water, wringing it out with practised efficiency.   
  
He stared at her as she offered him the damp linen, certain this innocuous little chat was going in a direction he didn't want to tread.   
  
"If you'll forgive my effrontery, sire," Gwen said, pressing the cloth into his hands when they remained limp at his sides, and nodded towards the bed, "I think perhaps Morgana may have been onto something?"  
  
Arthur's gaze flicked involuntarily to Merlin, recalling the sputter of indignation that had risen within him at Morgana's accusations; traces of it still lingered. "Morgana," he scoffed, "is rarely right about anything."  
  
Gwen smiled, almost laughed. "Arthur," she said affectionately, looking for all the world as if she was moments away from ruffling his hair, like a patient nanny just waiting for him to come out with the _whole_ story, not just the bits where he mimicked exemplary behaviour. "Trust me; on this one, she's definitely right."   
  
He thought about putting up a fight, but lying to himself was a lot easier than lying to Gwen. And what would be the point, after all? "Gwen, you and I..."   
  
"We had our moments," she said, thoughtful, squeezing his arm briefly before remembering herself. "But you and Merlin..." She paused, shaking her head as if unable to grasp the enormity of it all. "You have a whole _life_ together."   
  
A series of recollections opened in his mind's eye, the journey Merlin had made from being an insouciant pest who stuck his nose everywhere it didn't belong to becoming the person Arthur trusted most in the world; on a parallel track, Arthur's rough edges had smoothed out, pettiness and bored stupidity pushed aside by everything he should be, and wanted to be. And in between each milestone, there was Merlin, challenging him, constantly, to be a better man. There was no pinpointing when annoying had turned into welcome, but he knew now he needed Merlin, in so many ways, and he couldn't imagine, or bear to, a future without Merlin by his side.   
  
Arthur sighed, still slightly vexed by the knowing look in Gwen's eye, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's that obvious, is it?"  
  
Gwen smiled widely, pleased, and rose on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. "Take care of him," she said, and glided out of the room.   
  
He sank onto the edge of the bed again, spent, and dabbed a corner of the cloth along Merlin's brow, cupping his cheek briefly. "I will."  


* * *

  
  
It had been more than three hours since her conversation with Uther, but Morgana was unable to get the things he'd said out of her mind. That he had come to speak with her was no surprise, but that he'd accepted responsibility for her actions was nothing short of astounding. For all of his misplaced fury at magic, for all the despicable actions he'd taken and likely still would, she could no longer deny that when it came to his love and affection for her, there was not an insincere bone in his body. He meant every word he said, and she could no longer turn a blind eye to that.  
  
This revelation should have brought with it the provision of relief, but instead she felt more conflicted than ever before, Morgause's parting words still lingering at the back of her mind like a dead weight. Prior to her return to Camelot, failure had never once crossed her mind as an option, and yet now, when she was at the cusp of finally moving things along, failure was beginning to feel more like the solution than the predicament.  
  
There still remained no doubt in her mind that Uther deserved to pay for the atrocities he had committed throughout his life -- the murder of hundreds of innocent people simply for being born a certain way, and the thought still made her ill, the knowledge that her kin had been unjustly persecuted for the majority of her life. But perhaps appointing herself his personal judge and executioner was just as unfair. It was a thought that had been steadily building, even more so at the time of Morgause's visit, and Morgana wondered if perhaps it would be wise to try and contact her sister to test the waters of her receptiveness to the potential alternatives.  
  
With that decision made, Morgana permitted herself a few moments to think of the man who'd been instrumental in her shifting perspective. Leon was an incredible man, beautiful inside and out, with upstanding virtue and a strong moral compass. He was everything that she could ever askhope for in a friend, and dare to hope for in a potential future husband. But there was still one significant barrier in their way, one that could destroy any hope they may have had in an instant.   
  
There was no way she could even entertain the thought of something more, without first knowing how he would react to the idea of magic, and specifically _her_ own abilities.  
  
After a moment's hesitation, she determined that there was no time like the present for finally sorting through this issue once and for all. Pulling open the door, Morgana turned a smile upon Leon. "Can we walk?" It was getting late, but he would remain on duty for at least another couple of hours. They had more than enough time to work with.  
  
He nodded, eyeing her curiously but saying nothing. Depending on how he reacted to the conversation she was about to start, Morgana determined, after mulling over every possible option and potential way for this whole thing to turn sour -- and there were many ways in which it could -- that she would tell him the truth. Or at least as much as she could, without incriminating herself. Still, all the status in the world, and all the love that Uther may harbour for her would not be able to protect her from the truth of the role that she played in this whole debacle, or the intention behind the actions that were taken.  
  
"I've been thinking," she started, after they'd been walking for a few minutes, when she was certain they were far enough away from prying ears. Most of the regular activity and energy in the castle had faded by this hour, but one could never be too careful. "About the boy. Who was recently executed."  
  
When his response wasn't immediately forthcoming, Morgana felt her heart sink to her feet. Perhaps she'd been naive in believing that he still cared for her, following the near melt-down she'd had in his arms early that morning, sinking into his strength like a drowning woman clinging to the one thing that would keep her afloat. He was required to protect her from anything that may cause harm, so would that not, then, logically include comfort from night terrors? After all, hadn't she made her lack of affection for Leon painfully clear when she'd kissed Uther, even if her actions were directly opposed to the desires of her heart? The idea that he was merely executing his responsibilities and nothing more was suddenly a frightening possibility that Morgana didn't want to even entertain, let alone investigate. Still, she had to know for her own peace of mind. Better to discover the truth now, when the pain would burn but extinguish in time, than wait until her heart was already fully invested.  
  
His response was so quiet that for a moment she thought she'd imagined it. "What about him?"  
  
With wide eyes, she cast a glance in his direction, shadows from the glow of candlelight softening his features, and to her surprise, he was watching her openly, eyes alight with something she never thought she'd see again. Almost immediately Morgana found herself overcome with the urge to reach up and run her fingers down the side of his face, to feel the soft hair from his beard against her fingertips. Locking the desire in her heart, she mentally shook herself with a reminder of the purpose of their current conversation.   
  
Swallowing, she shoved aside all other thought. "He died because he was trying to save his sister from the illness that was killing him. He wasn't harming anyone or acting with any sort of malicious intent, and now his parents have lost both of their children. It's heart-breaking and unfair."  
  
"Yes, it is," he agreed. "I can't imagine how his parents must feel."  
  
"Nor can I," she said sadly.  
  
A couple of servants turned down the hall, walking towards them, and they both fell silent, instinctively falling in line with what was appropriate, instead of walking side by side. When they were alone once more, Morgana returned to the conversation.  
  
"Do you think the boy deserved death for his crime?" she asked before she was aware of the question even formulating in her mind.  
  
He turned to stare at her, obviously a little taken aback. "He used magic and was caught. The laws must be upheld, whether or not we agree with them."  
  
"But I'm asking you for your opinion, whether you think his execution was just," she pressed, aware of the fact she was cornering him, but not sure how else to elicit the responses she sought.  
  
Leon dropped his voice, leaning just slightly into her personal space. "Morgana, you understand that I could be thrown into the dungeons for even having this conversation with you."  
  
She was sure Leon wasn't saying this for his own sake; she was confident he knew she would never reveal their conversation to another soul. So he must be giving her a way out – a chance to end the discussion here and now. And if he wasn't trying to protect himself, then he was trying to protect her – even if he didn't know exactly what from.  
  
Touching his arm to garner his attention, she met his deep green eyes, speaking with confidence and assurance. "I know."  
  
And just like that, his entire posture seemed to relax just a fraction, perhaps noticeable to Morgana alone, but it was enough of an assurance that she'd said the right thing. "All right," he said, even sounding relieved.  
  
And then the question was there, dancing around at the back of her mind, reluctant to take shape. It was significant, in any number of ways, because there was so much more resting on his words now. But before she could prevent herself from speaking, Morgana forced the question from her lungs in a rush. "Would you, if you had the ability or resources-- would you have used magic, if you could have? To save your brother from being killed?"  
  
He stopped, immediately, at the question, and Morgana was suddenly terrified to look at him, afraid of what she might see on his face. But the question was now out there at least, and it would certainly reveal his personal perspective on magic once and for all, even if he didn't provide her with the answers she sought  
  
"I'm not sure, exactly, how magic would have helped," he said at length, slowly, as though still carefully considering her words and his opinion on them, "but if there had been some way, if I'd had the ability or means with which to do so, I think-- I think that it's not completely out of the realm of possibility that I might've considered something like that. Provided, of course, that by its use, I wouldn't have condemned someone else to the same fate, because no one should have to go through what my family and I did."  
  
Her heart skipped a beat, some of the heaviness floating away at his response, and even she could not quash the hope that was beginning to bubble in her veins. Yet, there was still more she needed to know, more that she had to ask. "Even if it was illegal, and could have resulted in your own death?"  
  
Folding his arms, Leon scratched thoughtfully at his chin. "I can't say for certain, of course, but I think so. When your convictions are strong enough, I think that it's possible to be more than willing to risk your life for someone you care about."  
  
  
Morgana felt hope rise at that answer, but she sent a cautious warning her own way with the reminder not to jump too quickly to conclusions without all the facts.  
  
"Does this mean, then, that you disagree with the official stance on magic?" she asked in hushed tones, glancing down the corridor once more just to reassure herself that no one else was around.  
  
Clear anxiety settled into his features and Leon folded his arms across his chest, somewhat defensively.  
  
"I'm not saying that I don't," Leon said hastily, then seemed to catch himself. "It's just-- I don't know what happened twenty odd years ago that changed everything, but I suspect that actions were taken that felt fully justified at the time, and perhaps they even were, to a small extent. However, if I may speak so freely, I think that the king may have been attributing malicious intent to the wrong factor."  
  
If she was hearing him correctly, then that meant... No, she still needed to hear more. "So what are you saying, exactly?" Morgana asked, as much to clarify as to hear the words just one more time, with the hope that they might truly sink in.  
  
"I'm suggesting that you could hand a sword to an honourable man and he would use it to defend and protect, while a dishonourable man would use the same weapon to steal or kill. What matters is not the weapon of choice, but what's in the heart of the person who wields it." He paused, then deliberately lowered his voice even more, so much so that she had to lean in closer just to make out what he was saying. "Some will use magic for destruction, but I see no distinction between the use of magic, a sword, or a cross-bow. Those who wish to do harm will use whatever means they have available to them in the same way as those who wish to do good. Punishment should be doled out based on the crime, not on the means that were used to commit the crime."   
  
And there it was, the answer she so desperately sought. Instantly the dread and fear hovering over her head like a storm cloud dissipated and began to drift away. "You-- you're absolutely correct, I think. At least, that's how I see it too. Someone who has an ability, whether it's swordsmanship, unarmed combat or magic -- they shouldn't be condemned simply for possessing the skill in the first place. Only if they choose to use it for evil purposes." She pointedly tried to forget the current misuse of her own talents.  
  
"I didn't realise quite how much passion you have for this topic," Leon said, but if he was implying something, it wasn't immediately obvious.  
  
"There's so much you still don't know about me," she breathed, filled with something resembling regret all of a sudden, and cast her eyes towards the floor. It was as close to an admission of her magic as she'd ever given, save for that one time when she'd foolishly decided to confide in Merlin, though he had yet to reveal her secret, and that, at least, said something about his character.  
  
"Perhaps so," he agreed softly. She felt his fingers curls gently around her arm, tugging until she met his gaze once again, eyes warm and swimming with openness. "But I'd like to. Learn more about you, I mean, if you-- if that's something you want as well, of course."  
  
He spoke with such candour, his voice filled with both hope and nervous anticipation, that there was no room for misinterpretation of his meaning or the intention behind his words this time. Perhaps, then, not all had been lost when she'd kissed Uther after all, if Leon still desired to pursue something more with her. Without even realising what she was doing, her hand moved to cover his, her smile so bright it could have lit the entire corridor on its own. Ducking her head, as much to hide the blush that stained her cheeks as to prevent herself from doing anything rash, she heard herself replying, "I very much would like that, yes."  
  
His responding grin made her feel weak at the knees for just a moment, even as her heart felt as though it might burst free from her chest. "I'm glad," he said, eyes darting to fixate on the place on her shoulder where their hands still touched. "And I just-- I wanted to let you know that no matter what I happen to learn about you, it won't change anything. About how I see you, I mean. No matter what it is." He spoke slowly, placing just slightly more emphasis on the last sentence, staring deep into her eyes, and she could tell that he was referring to any of the secrets buried deep within her mind, knew without fully knowing that he was telling her he'd still accept whatever it was she kept locked away.  
  
Just like that, every fear, every worry, every bit of indecision she was feeling shattered like tiny shards of glass at her feet. They had a long road to travel, one they'd barely just begun, and she had no idea where it would take them, what she was going to do about all of the loose ends furling around the edges of her life, but she had her answer now, knew exactly where they stood, and it was enough to convince her to try to contact Morgause in order to reevaluate their strategy.  
  
Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, Morgana smiled up at him, grateful beyond expression. "Thank you."  
  
Comfortable silence hung between them for several moments, as if both were simultaneously basking in their unspoken confessions while attempting to figure out what there was to say now. As anticipated, Leon was the one to finally break the quiet.  
  
"We should probably head back," he suggested, letting go of her shoulder and reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck a bit awkwardly, a content smile still resting on his lips.  
  
Were it not for the fact that they could be caught at any moment, she might have taken his hand in her own, entwining their fingers and leaning into his side like she'd wanted to for longer than she was even consciously aware. But as it was, the risk was still too great, and she still had business to take care of, had to figure out a way to get in contact with her sister. So instead, she settled for merely enjoying the way their arms or hands occasionally brushed against one another as they walked, feeling optimistic about her future for the first time in longer than she could remember.


	14. Chapter 14

Arthur lay on his back, sighing to himself in the darkness, every inch of his body demanding to get off the floor. Beneath him, the bearskin rug on which he'd found Merlin sleeping before he'd moved the idiot over to the bed, normally looking like an invitation to luxury, felt as cheap and scant and useless as a scrap of sandpaper. It had been out of a misguided sense of chivalry that Arthur had left Merlin the bed and retired to the rug for the night, but with the cold eating through his skin and the pure discomfort of lying on a stone floor, Arthur wasn't sure he could stand it much longer, especially when there was a perfectly good bed, with lovely blankets and down pillows, within an arm's reach, never mind that Merlin had starfished himself all over it as if claiming it for his very own.  
  
Given the hard lump in Merlin's room that, under low lighting, usually just barely managed to pass itself off as a bed, Arthur wasn't exactly surprised Merlin had taken to the royal four-poster with such alacrity.   
  
Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Arthur peered over at Merlin, whose fevered mutterings earlier that day had, to Arthur's relief, petered out into quiet breathing and the occasional coo of comfort as he rolled himself around from pillow to pillow.   
  
Arthur got to his feet, stretched the stiffness out of his back, and padded over to the bed, deep in consideration. It was big enough for two, certainly, but the last time he and Merlin had shared a sleeping space -- no matter that that had been under a wide open sky and amidst miles of forest -- they'd ended up in each other's arms and that hadn't ended so well. Arthur felt a bit of heat rise to his cheeks, remembering the dreams and his physical response and the fear and shame that had plagued him even as he'd brought himself off to thoughts of Merlin.   
  
Oddly, he felt entirely distanced from it now, despite the fact that it had happened only a few weeks ago. Forced by Morgana's impertinence to seriously contemplate what Merlin meant to him rather than keeping it at bay as he'd always done, the fortifications he'd built so carefully around his innermost thoughts had crumbled, and had at last been cleared away by Gwen's gentle practicality. And as it turned out, facing the truth was far less terrifying than he'd expected.   
  
Perhaps he'd just needed somebody else to say it to him, to lend his thoughts the voice that he couldn't provide, to give him permission to let himself realise it, and some day he might even have to thank Morgana for being a presumptuous little harpy and catching on to his feelings before he did. There were no guarantees for a happy ending, and Merlin might not ever reciprocate his feelings, but for the time being, the sheer relief from relinquishing the grip on his own heart and keeping it shut so tightly was enough to let Arthur pull back the covers and climb into bed next to Merlin.   
  
"Shove over, you hog," Arthur said softly, and though he didn't fully awaken, Merlin complied anyway with a small sound that was probably a grumble, inching over to make room. Arthur slid in, the warmth left in Merlin's wake making him smile involuntarily.   
  
Cocooned in that sweet warmth, Arthur fell asleep almost immediately, and slept in continuous contentment until a series of sharp raps at the door roused him. Jerking awake, Arthur rapidly blinked the bleariness out of his eyes until the servant at the door swam into sharp focus, and he recognised Merlin's replacement from the day before.   
  
"Er..." said Harold, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, looking at Arthur like he'd completely forgotten why he'd been sent to the prince's chambers.   
  
Arthur scrubbed his face. "Well?"  
  
"Ah..." said the boy, staring past Arthur. "Oh."   
  
Following the direction of his gaze, Arthur realised Merlin was nestled into his side, still sound asleep. Despite the fact that neither of them had done anything remotely close to compromising, Arthur knew it probably didn't look altogether innocent. Gathering what princely comportment he could whilst caught with his figurative knickers down, he stepped out of bed, crossing his arms. "I assume your bursting in here was due to some kind of urgency, in which case, relaying whatever information you were sent with some time today would probably be in everyone's best interests."  
  
"Yeah. Uh," Harold fumbled, "sire. The king wants to see you. There's reports from villages just south of the lower town of some kind of monster attack and, er, and it appears to be moving this way."  
  
Something clenched at Arthur's stomach. He waved the boy away. "I'll be right behind you," he said, and pulled on whatever clothing was available in the immediate vicinity.   
  
Glancing at Merlin, his movements stilled momentarily. Under normal circumstances he'd have shaken Merlin awake by now and made him come along, but even though some of the colour had returned to his face, Merlin still looked very much under the weather, and the fact that he hadn't even stirred during this whole conversation made Arthur hesitate.   
  
He liked having Merlin alongside him; even long before his growing feelings had planted themselves in the way, he'd always liked having Merlin there, as a silent support while Uther talked –- and then as a very chatty one when they came away from the throne room and Merlin put everything Arthur was feeling into uncomplimentary words Arthur could never say but agreed with anyway. He liked the silly faces Merlin made at him during particularly poorly thought-out lies he told to Uther when he needed to get out of the castle to do things the king wouldn't have approved of; he liked the looks Merlin shot him that were more reassuring than anything anyone else said even if the entire court was giving him a dressing down; he liked knowing someone was on his side, always.  
  
But, he supposed, it was his turn to look out for Merlin, and that meant letting him recover in peace, without having to worry about taking care of anyone but himself. Quickly scribbling out dosage instructions and tucking it underneath Merlin's medicine, Arthur let his fingers briefly graze Merlin's cheek, a promise for later, and swept out the door.  
  


* * *

  
  
_They stood at the fringe of a lush forest -- Arthur in full armour, sword drawn and stance battle-ready, Morgana hidden in the shadows of the trees that sheltered her from his vision. Morgause was here somewhere as well; Morgana could feel her, but could not pinpoint her exact location. She had no conscious awareness of how they'd ended up here or the circumstances which had led to this moment, but she could feel in her heart that this would soon be revealed.  
  
She tried to move towards Arthur, but something held her in place, as though she were paralysed. A second attempt was no more successful, and she knew without doubt that Morgause had done something to prevent any interference in her plans for Arthur. Fear assaulted Morgana's mind, attacking from all corners, as she waited with a sick horror twisting in her gut for whatever was about to happen.  
  
A beat passed. Nothing. Arthur watched and waited, Morgana held her breath, and somewhere, off in the distance, Morgause smiled.  
  
And then, as if out of thin air, a colossal creature descended upon Arthur, snarling viciously.  
  
Then there was another, and another, and soon so many beasts surrounded Arthur that he appeared no more significant than a speck of dust against the backdrop of fur and claws and razor sharp teeth.  
  
He fought valiantly and with great courage, as he had time and time before, but this was a battle no human alone could win, and there was no chance for survival.  
  
A scream of rage erupted past her lips, shaking the ground beneath their feet, but the creatures paid her no heed, continuing their onslaught against Arthur instead, and Morgana watched on, hopeless, helpless to stop any of this.  
  
He tore down one, and then a second. But for every beast he managed to injure, two more seemed to appear in its place, stronger and more determined than the last one. By now his armour was nothing but useless shreds, but still he fought on, even as one of the creatures slashed a claw through his chest.  
  
Blood poured from his gaping wounds, and Arthur's eyes fell shut then, finally accepting defeat as he crumpled to the ground, his face resting in a pool of his own spilled blood. He shuddered violently twice before his body went completely limp, and she knew then, without doubt, that he was dead.  
  
And all the while, Morgause watched from a distance, eyes alight with satisfaction and success, and Morgana felt the sting of betrayal like a knife to her heart._  
  
Morgana awoke, a noiseless scream pouring from her throat, tears slipping down her cheeks as fear gripped her so tightly she could barely breathe. Again. Another dream. Another nightmare. Or was it something more, some sign of things that had not yet come to pass? She sat up in the bed, sucking in breath after breath as if she might never have enough air again, willing down the fear thrumming through her veins, rather unsuccessfully. Even without further contemplation, Morgana already knew the answer to her question. She could not deny the feeling of urgency coursing through her veins, could not dismiss this as just another bad dream. For all the trust and faith she'd placed in Morgause, she felt with every fibre of her being that the betrayal from her dream was on the cusp of manifesting itself, but how... and where?  
  
The sudden sound of frantic, though hushed, voices outside the door wrenched Morgana from her thoughts, and without stopping to consider her actions, she tossed the covers aside and bolted from the bed. Her feet found their way to the door and she strained to make out what was being said on the other side, body humming with a nervous energy, remnants of her vision still cresting along the frayed edges of her mind. It was hard to tell for certain, but Morgana was quite sure she heard the words 'village', 'attacked', 'beast' and 'Camelot'. Her heart dropped to her feet with a sickening swiftness. It was enough to alert her to the fact that something serious was going on, but all the same, she still needed more information.  
  
Tugging on the door handle, she managed to pull it open a crack, seemingly without alerting anyone to her presence. She pressed her ear to the door, leaning in as much as she could without pushing it shut entirely.  
  
"When did this happen?"  
  
Leon. He must have just recently arrived to relieve the night guard from his duty.  
  
"Late last night. The initial reports indicate that at least five people were killed, and two are still unaccounted for. But I've only just been informed now. We need to hurry, before anyone else is killed."  
  
That voice unmistakably belonged to Arthur.  
  
The feeling of dread, still lingering from the terror induced by her vision-dream, rose like bile in her throat once more.  
  
"What about Morgana?"  
  
"I've put in a request for a replacement guard to take over your watch. He should be here soon."  
  
It was the last thing she heard before the sound of boots scuffing down the corridors as they departed.  
  
It was enough, though, to confirm her darkest fears. This was already the second nightmare she'd had about a monster attack, and it felt far too coincidental that Camelot was now under attack. No, it was not merely by chance that this was happening, which could only mean that something awful was imminent, if she wasn't able to prevent it from occurring. If Morgause truly was the mastermind behind this whole thing, as Morgana believed her to be, then the reality was that Arthur and Leon were in far more danger than they even realised. What had Arthur said? That they would send another guard around to replace Leon's post? Which meant that she only had a few minutes to work with, before the opportunity to follow them vanished like smoke.   
  
With urgent speed, Morgana dressed and pulled on a pair of boots, and, after a moment's hesitation, unearthed her sword from the back of her wardrobe. She tied the sword belt around her waist, and stuck a dagger in as well for good measure. Just in case.   
  
She wrapped a cloak around her shoulders, tucking the weapons out of sight, and slunk cautiously from her room. Thankfully, Leon's replacement guard had yet to arrive on the scene, and since it was still early in the morning, it afforded her with necessary extra time before he would even think to check in on her. Besides, all she truly required was a few minutes' head start anyway.  
  
Pulling the hood of the cloak over her head to hide her identity from any passers-by, Morgana did the only logical thing she could think of -- she headed directly for Arthur's chambers. It was possible that he'd yet to leave, which meant that she still might be able to talk him out of fighting these 'creatures', whatever they were. Or, at the very least, find out further information about what had happened. However, even if he wasn't in his chambers at all, it was plausible that he may have left behind papers or some sort of clue as to where this threat was, and it seemed like the most reasonable starting place.  
  
Unsurprisingly, Arthur was not in his chambers when Morgana arrived, though she _was_ thrown by the human-sized lump that seemed to occupy his bed. A mop of dark hair peeked out from under the covers, the only other indication that this was someone besides Arthur. But who on earth could be sleeping so casually in Arthur's bed? Was it possible that a servant had decided to use the royal bed as his own personal resting place when he thought no one would notice? What a dangerously foolish risk to take, Morgana mused.  
  
Padding over to the bed, the identity of the unknown interloper quickly became obvious as his features blinked into focus.  
  
" _Merlin_?"  
  
He made a soft noise, then burrowed himself further under the covers, still oblivious to Morgana's presence. Had this been another time, another situation that wasn't so dire, she might have been more than a little curious as to what, exactly, Merlin was doing all curled up in Arthur's bed. And it was obvious, by the rumpled sheets on the opposite side of the bed, that Merlin hadn't been sleeping alone last night. Still, right now she could not afford to waste time wondering whether or not they had finally understood their feelings for one another. The fact that Arthur had left without Merlin was telling, but maybe she could use this to her advantage.  
  
"Merlin, wake up," she said, tugging the blankets away from his face and shaking his shoulder.  
  
"Mmm, still tired," he mumbled, eyes remaining shut.  
  
"Merlin, it's Morgana," she tried again, more firmly this time.  
  
That seemed to wake him up. Two tired blue eyes blinked up at her in confusion. "Morgana? What are you doing in my room?"  
  
"Well, you're in Arthur's room, for starters. But you have to wake up so you can tell me what's going on. Do you know where he is?"  
  
"Do I know where Arthur is? Why would I know that?" he asked sleepily, and then, "Wait. I'm in Arthur's room?"  
  
Morgana bit back a growl of frustration. Yes, he was still half-asleep, and come to think of it, he didn't look all that great either, but the more time they wasted sorting out details, the less likelihood they had of finding and helping Arthur, Leon and the other knights he'd presumably taken along as well. "I need you to focus here, Merlin. I just overheard Arthur speaking to Leon. Apparently a village was attacked by some beasts and I dreamt last night that something terrible was about to happen to Arthur. I need to find him and stop my vision from becoming a reality, so unless you have anything useful for me, I have to leave. Now."  
  
Apparently all it took to fully wake Merlin was the mention of potential danger for Arthur, and he was as wide-eyed as an owl. He was climbing out of the bed before the words even left his mouth: "Arthur's in danger? How do you know this?"  
  
"I don't, exactly. I had a dream. But before you accuse me of making something up or over-reacting, you should know that I would never intentionally harm Arthur."  
  
Merlin bounced around the room on one foot as he attempted to pull on his boots. "I know. You told me before, and I believe you," he grunted without hesitation, and then tumbled gracelessly to the floor.   
  
In truth, she hadn't expected him to agree so readily, what with the steady stream of lies and threats that had spilled past her lips over the last couple of weeks. Still, perhaps it was a true testament to his dedication and loyalty to Arthur that he was willing to potentially run into a trap at the hands of someone who had every reason to try to eliminate him, as long as Arthur was safe in the end. The last time they'd spoken, Merlin had adamantly defended and stood behind Arthur with his words; now his actions proved his words true. It was an admirable quality, and for the first time in months Morgana felt a modicum of respect for him well up within her, and quite involuntarily, she wondered if some day Leon might be willing to risk the same for her.  
  
"So who's trying to kill Arthur now? And why?" Merlin asked from his spot on the ground, jamming his foot into his other boot with urgency.  
  
And just for a moment, Morgana faltered. But then she remembered the terror of her dream, the crimson pool of Arthur's blood and the anguish that wracked her body, and all hesitation vanished. Merlin couldn't be of help to her without knowing what they were up against, and she knew that with his magic, he was her best ally. "Morgause."  
  
"What? Really? So then I _did_ see her the other night. I thought maybe I'd just imagined the whole thing, what with the fever and everything."  
  
Now it was Morgana's turn to be surprised. "You saw Morgause?"  
  
"Yeah. Or thought I did. But you've just confirmed it." He stood, hair still tousled from sleep and heavy bags lining the underside of his eyes, but what Merlin seemed to lack in physical prowess, he more than made up for in determination. "Morgana, what's _going on_?"  
  
It was a fair enough question, but one they certainly didn't have time for at the moment. Reaching out to grab his arm, she shook her head fiercely. "Not now, Merlin. Please, we need to find Arthur and Leon."  
  
He hesitated for less than a second before nodding. "All right. Let's go."  
  
With fear sitting like a lead weight in her gut and the lingering taste of betrayal at the back of her tongue, Morgana followed closely behind Merlin, resolve growing with each step she took.  
  


* * *

  
  
The messenger had been half-dead by the time he'd got to Camelot with news of the attack -- no bodily wounds, but the pure terror on his face told Arthur all he needed to know even before the man had uttered a single word. And when he finally had done, spitting and sputtering out his account, Arthur had felt his heart sink a little and his courage wane. But, as always, he'd picked up his sword anyway.   
  
There was a small part of him now that wished he hadn't, that wished he'd simply packed up and run like hell.   
  
What stood before him and his knights defied description. Under a coy sun now shining, now shadowed as clouds scudded by, its sleek, iridescent hide shimmered like nacre, stretched across a tense, sinewy frame that stood as big as a house. If sheer size had been its only claim to fame, Arthur could have easily found a way to put it to the creature's disadvantage, but it had much more to boast.   
  
Had the gods ever intended to create a war machine out of an animal, this would have been it; from head to toe, it had a breathtaking capacity for destruction. Elegant spikes descended the length of its spine, meeting a broad, swaying tail that could whip through reinforced walls with ease. Adorning its feet were jet black claws, and, to match, its crowning glory, a set of horns thicker than a man's arm and sharp as a new sword.   
  
It opened its slavering jaws, a warning growl erupting, and showed Arthur shining rows of teeth.   
  
"What _is_ this thing?" Leon muttered.   
  
Whatever it was that they were up against clearly could not belong to this world. It was too savage, too extraordinary to have remained unheard of and unseen for this long; more than likely, magic was the reason for its sudden presence, and that meant that the odds of them all making it out of this alive were less than slim.   
  
Still, Arthur swallowed his fear and pushed a confident smile onto his face, turning briefly to Leon and the other knights behind him. "Combat practice."  
  
Leon grinned in return, and led the first charge.   
  
Beyond that, the rest of it was a blur of light and sound. It was to their good fortune that they outnumbered the beast and could take it in turns to attack when a man tired or was wounded, or create distractions if another knight was in trouble, but that was where their luck ended. The beast, ferocious and undiscerning, assailed anything and everything that moved, and did it with lightning speed, making it nigh impossible for any of them to get a solid stroke in.   
  
None of them had sustained any serious injury thus far, thankfully, but even the small ones would eventually add up; already blood had been spilt and it seemed to spur the monster on, and Arthur knew that if the fight went on like this, sooner or later his men would weaken and all would be lost. Something drastic needed to happen, and it was up to him to do it.   
  
Arthur called out for a replacement, and stepped away from the melee. It was a risk, but if they could just afford him a moment's time to study the beast's movements he could find its weakness. At present, it was nothing but a tornado of spikes and claws, but everything had a weak spot somewhere, and he had to figure out what it was, quickly.   
  
And when he saw it, his stomach lurched.   
  
More precisely, when he saw _her_. The sorceress who had shown him the vision of his mother appeared among the trees in the distance, the crimson gleam of her gown and the spun gold of her hair like a fiery beacon. She weaved a graceful path, the trees seeming to bend out of her way of their own accord, and stared at him impassively, then walked away.   
  
Arthur started after her. She had to be the key. That this monstrous creature should suddenly turn up at their doorstep intent on destroying everything in its path could not be mere coincidence with _her_ accursed presence as well. If he could kill her, then the magic that had conceived this beast would likely die as well.   
  
She did not turn back to look at him as she moved further and further away from the battle scene, not once, even though he shouted at her to stop.   
  
At length, he came to a halt, the trail suddenly lost as if she had disappeared into thin air. Arthur glanced around anxiously; he was in a small glade, brightly lit and quiet. So quiet, in fact, that he could not hear the swords of his knights any longer. How far had he come?   
  
Heavy footsteps fell behind him, and a soft snort rumbled through the air. Arthur turned. It was then that he realised how utterly stupid he had been. The beast he'd left was not the only one of its kind, and Arthur was all alone.   


* * *

  
  
It wasn't that difficult to follow the trail that had been left behind, especially given Merlin's experience in and penchant for tracking Arthur down, particularly when he wasn't supposed to. Merlin led them out of the borders of the city and wended his way through the thick forest, careful to make as little noise as possible, Morgana hot on his heels. After they'd been on the move for what felt like hours but was likely no more than a few minutes, the trees began to thin, leading them to a small clearing.   
  
An audible gasp escaped from Morgana's lips at the exact moment that Merlin saw what the knights were up against. An enormous creature comprised almost entirely of muscle, horns, claws and teeth stood on its hind legs in the middle of the clearing as they circled it. Even though it was surrounded, the beast still appeared to have the upper hand, moving with surprising swiftness in spite of its size. Merlin quickly scanned the knights for any sign of Arthur while he mentally catalogued the beast. There was something oddly familiar about it.  
  
"I think I've seen one of these before," Merlin breathed as the memory of reading about it in one of Gaius' books distilled in his mind, and he wracked his brain for whatever other information he had managed to store up on this creature at that time. "I believe it's called a behemoth."  
  
Morgana muttered a few words that were unbecoming of a lady before casting him a sidelong glance. "You've encountered one of these-- _monsters_ before?"  
  
"Well, not personally. But I'm quite sure I've read about it."  
  
"They're creatures of magic, aren't they?"  
  
Merlin shot her a curious look. "How did you know that?"  
  
"I can just feel it, like I'd imagine you can?"  
  
He nodded solemnly. If it really was the case that they were being attacked by a behemoth, then Arthur and the knights were in a world of trouble.  
  
"I don't see Arthur," Morgana whispered frantically into Merlin's ear then, fingers digging into his shoulder.  
  
"I don't either," Merlin said, scanning the horizon a second time as a wedge of fear wormed its way under his skin. If Arthur wasn't among the knights battling the behemoth then it could only mean one of two things. Either Arthur was injured (which Merlin refused to believe), or he simply wasn't here. The first option was unlikely, given the fact that the rest of his knights seemed fine thus far, so it looked as if the second scenario was far more plausible. But then if that was the case, where had Arthur gone, and more importantly, why?  
  
Craning his neck to toss a quick glance at Morgana, Merlin said, "Come on," and gestured for her to follow him.  
  
But the hand still resting on his shoulder dug in, holding Merlin firmly in place. "What about the knights? Are we just going to leave them to fend for themselves?"   
  
"What do you want us to do? Neither one of us can help them without revealing ourselves as magic. Besides, they were trained by the best warrior in all of Camelot. They'll be fine. But if your dream is correct, then Arthur is the one in danger, and we need to find him. _Now._ "  
  
Merlin refused to succumb to the panic that was dancing around the edge of his mind, because he knew that Arthur was strong and that he was perfectly fine. So many times in the past Merlin had been severely delayed by one thing or another, and Arthur had more than adequately managed to hold off significant threats. Besides, they were no more than ten minutes behind him. Though admittedly, this was also the first time Merlin's sense of urgency had been heightened by a second person with inside knowledge, and it certainly helped push that fear to the forefront of his consciousness.  
  
Neither had any idea which direction to follow, but running on instinct had never failed Merlin before, and he hoped it would continue to bring him success. No more than a minute passed as they weaved their way through the trees lining the forest's edge before Merlin and Morgana found Arthur. Thankfully he was alive, though the situation looked precarious, even with a mere glance to assess what was going on. Somehow he must have been led away from the others by one of the behemoths, as one of the same beasts was currently attacking Arthur. The most significant difference in this encounter, however, was the fact that Arthur was completely alone, and no matter how skilled he was, it seemed unlikely that any human could defeat a behemoth on his own. The odds were stacked heavily against him, which meant that Merlin only had one option. Still, he knew full well that he and Morgana couldn't exactly rush down there and just start 'helping' Arthur.  
  
"We need a plan. Arthur needs help, obviously, but it's not as if we can just run down there and offer our assistance," Merlin said, thinking, planning.  
  
Silence hung in the air for several seconds and for a moment Merlin thought that perhaps Morgana hadn't actually heard him at all. But when he turned to her to repeat his words, he noticed that her gaze rested off in the distance, nowhere near where Arthur stood.  
  
"She's here," Morgana announced, at length.  
  
Merlin eyed her, confused. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Morgause. She's here," Morgana repeated.  
  
"How do you know that?"  
  
"Because it was in my dreams. She was always here... watching Arthur as he fought. Everything else has proven true; she must be somewhere close." Morgana craned her neck, looking around. "I need to go after her."  
  
But Merlin shook his head. "You can't do that. It's too dangerous."  
  
"No, it's not. I'll be fine. You go and take care of Arthur. But I might be the only one who can stop Morgause, if she is the one who created these creatures in the first place. I have to at least _try_."  
  
Merlin wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her that she was being foolish and that this was a terrible idea, but he had to admit that in some ways, what she was saying made sense. It had been obvious when he'd poisoned Morgana, at the time, that Morgause cared deeply for her, even all those months ago. Surely if anyone had a hope of talking her out of this, it would be Morgana. More than that, though, he knew she would rush off on her own anyway, as soon as he went down to assist Arthur, so any hope of instructing her to stay put vanished into a cloud of smoke.  
  
"All right, fine. But please, _please_ be careful, and don't take any unnecessary risks," Merlin said with some reluctance.  
  
Morgana nodded, determination written plainly across her face. She grabbed his hand with urgency, squeezing firmly. "I won't. But you have to promise to be safe too. Make sure that both you and Arthur return, all right?"  
  
"I will," he promised, swallowing heavily.  
  
She hurried away from him then, and Merlin turned his attention back to Arthur.


	15. Chapter 15

Arthur had trained for a scenario like this for nearly all of his life. He was, if not the most skilled warrior in all of Camelot, at least one of the most resourceful, and if all those years of gruelling practice had taught him anything, it was to never accept defeat, even against what appeared to be an impossible foe. No one was invincible, no matter the size or strength; everything and everyone had a weakness, and Arthur was going to find this creature's, because there were no other available options if he wanted to live.  
  
These things were swift and ferocious, that much he'd witnessed during his brief study of the first beast's movements earlier. At this point, it appeared that the best offence would be a strong defence. If he could just wait for it to make the first move, the likelihood of injuring the beast while it regrouped after an attack would hopefully increase.  
  
For several seconds an eerie silence fell over the clearing as Arthur, holding his sword out in front of him as he waited, watched the beast shuffle back and forth. He wondered vaguely if Morgause was still somewhere nearby, hidden in the thicket as she took in the result of her handiwork, because there was no doubt she'd somehow created these creatures. Thankfully the wait was not long before the beast lunged forwards with alarming speed, and Arthur barely managed to stumble backwards out of its grasp as it reared up on its hind legs and swiped at him with both claws, snarling viciously. This one appeared slightly smaller in build than the one he'd left his knights to slay, but that didn't seem to have any effect on its speed or ferocity.  
  
As it came back to the ground, Arthur swung his sword out, aiming specifically for its front paws, and was surprised when he made contact, splitting open the left side of its left paw. A deep growl spilled past its mouth, sharp teeth gleaming and eyes alight with rage as it pulled away momentarily, and Arthur used this time to regroup. Unfortunately, the initial satisfaction of landing a blow faded quickly, as the injury clearly had no real impact on the creature's strength or agility, and instead only served to infuriate the beast even further. With lightning speed, the creature lashed out at Arthur with its uninjured claw and this time Arthur was unable to move out of the way fast enough.  
  
He registered the hard thud of a tree trunk against his back, the white hot pain that shot up and down his spine, the clank of his sword dropping several feet away before he was even able to process the fact that he'd been thrown in the first place. Blinking away the shock, Arthur managed to pull himself together in time to dive away from the tree at the same moment that the beast made to lunge for him once more. Arthur watched with abject horror as the beast struck the tree in the space directly above where his head had just been, nearly shredding it in half from that one strike alone. But there was no time to sit and watch the show, if he wished to avoid becoming the creature's dinner.  
  
Tucking his body in tight, Arthur rolled to the side and made a quick grab for his sword. This pace was becoming too much. If he wasn't able to find a way to slow its movements somehow, he would be too exhausted to even sidestep further attack, let alone slay the accursed creature.  
  
He needed to find an opening somewhere, and fast.  
  


*

  
  
Morgana ran. Behind her she thought she could hear the distant roars of the beasts and the shouts of the men fighting for their lives, and she fought the urge to retch. She had seen her fair share of battles in the past, stepped over the dead and dying, breathed in the copper stench of spilled blood, but there was no hardening herself against those cries in the distance now -- she was responsible for this destruction.   
  
Beneath her feet, fallen leaves crackled and tore as she pushed herself forwards, looking around wildly for any sign of Morgause. A small part of her still hoped that her dreams were wrong, that her subconscious might have fabricated those visions to work through her unspoken fears, but she'd seen the beasts from her nightmares come to life; this was all too real, and that meant that Morgause was somewhere nearby, watching all her orchestrations come to fruition.   
  
The trouble was, she had no clue where or how to find Morgause. Her sister had always been the one to set the terms for their communication; she'd always been the one to send messages first or to track Morgana down in person at the castle. Every letter, every meeting played according to Morgause's rules alone.   
  
It was clear now just how easy Morgana had made it for Morgause to influence her mind, like pulling the strings of a marionette; she'd let herself be manipulated as much as she thought she'd been manipulating Uther, her childish anger embraced and multiplied tenfold in Morgause's warm countenance. She'd let their bond in blood dictate her actions, placing her entire trust in a woman she had only called sister for a matter of months, and as much as she wanted to blame Morgause for everything that was happening now, Morgana knew that she was just as much at fault for thinking she had the will to play these kinds of games, the strength to tussle with forces she didn't understand.   
  
Out of the corner of her eye, a shimmer of red appeared, and Morgause materialised from behind a dense thicket, smooth and placid. Nothing of her mien suggested any hint of the savagery she had set in motion.   
  
"Morgana, you should not be out here. It isn't safe."  
  
Any hopes Morgana had mulishly clung onto about Morgause's innocence in all this disappeared in a trice. She grabbed Morgause by the shoulder. "What have you done?"  
  
Morgause's calm demeanour did not change; her tone, when she spoke, reminded Morgana of the patronising patience of someone explaining something to a simple child. "Only what you needed me to do. Arthur was in your way, and now I'm making sure he will no longer present a problem to you."  
  
"I never asked you to hurt him. I never _wanted_ you to hurt him!"  
  
Morgause tilted her head to one side, as though she was hearing this for the very first time. "I gave you my word that I wouldn't personally harm Arthur. I haven't, and I won't lay a finger on him. How he holds himself against the behemoths is his burden to bear."  
  
Blood suddenly rising to a boil, Morgana took a step backwards before she could raise a hand to Morgause. In all her worst fears she'd never imagined that Morgause would betray her trust this way, arguing _semantics_ of all things. "He'll be killed if you don't stop it," she said, hating the desperation in her voice, knowing that if Arthur -- or if Leon -- were hurt, or worse, she'd only have herself to blame for being so stupid and so naive.   
  
"That is a risk," Morgause agreed solemnly. "But you said yourself he's a skilled warrior; he may come out of this the stronger."  
  
For a brief second Morgana congratulated herself on keeping Merlin's secret from Morgause; had she revealed Merlin's abilities, no doubt Morgause would have found a way to put him out of commission, too, and Arthur would have had no hope at all. With Merlin by his side, at least he still stood a fighting chance. Still, visions of Arthur's death flashed across her mind, and anger surged to the surface once more. She knew Morgause still held a grudge against Arthur for sparing Uther's life after all the trouble she'd gone through to show him why Igraine had died; perhaps retribution for that discarded faith was at hand. "You planned this," she accused. "You wanted this to happen all along."  
  
A hairline crack appeared in the calm facade. "It was never my wish to kill Arthur. But he's proven nothing more than a distraction and a liability, and if you want Camelot's crown, this is how you get it. I thought," said Morgause, looking truly earnest, "this would make things easier for you, to get Uther to entrust Camelot to you."  
  
Morgana felt so small. "I don't want it."  
  
Morgause's stare was sharp enough to cut glass. "You don't want it? Morgana, we've been planning this for _months_ and you're changing your mind now? What happened to making Uther pay for all he's done to us, to our fallen brethren? For what he's done to _you_?"  
  
"I don't know; I-- I can't do it. I can't kill anyone, and nobody should be getting hurt or killed on my account. Least of all those villagers your behemoths have already massacred, and-- and those knights trying to protect the rest of Camelot, and Arthur. You have to call them off."  
  
"It's for the greater good of the people," she insisted.   
  
"How can it be for their greater good if they're all _dead_?"  
  
Morgause pursed her lips, but her tone, didactic and practical, revealed her temper remained as even as ever. "There are casualties in every war. It's unavoidable. And we will mourn our losses and their sacrifices in the light of a brighter future, one that _we_ will bring about once we rid the world of Uther Pendragon. It's too late for second thoughts, Morgana; besides, this is what you wanted."  
  
"Not like this. It isn't right," said Morgana, shaking her head. "There has to be another way, a better way."  
  
"There _is_ ," Morgause hissed, impatience flaring at last, "and you begged me not to go through with it. With my powers, I could have turned this entire land to _ash_. But for you, I would already have Camelot in my hands. You were the one who wanted to take this route, to bring Camelot down from the inside, and now you're telling me that _I'm_ the one in the wrong?"  
  
Involuntarily, Morgana took a step backwards at the anger that flashed across Morgause's face, and for the first time, truly understood how dangerous her sister was. "This is my fault," Morgana placated. "I was wrong, and I'm sorry that I've put you in this position. But now I'm asking you -- _begging_ you -- please put a stop to it before anyone else gets hurt. We don't need to win Camelot this way."  
  
A mirthless breath of laughter whispered past Morgause's lips. "So it's 'we' again now, is it? Morgana, I trusted you." The words would have been laughable, considering the underhanded way Morgause had circumvented her promises, had it not been for the look on her face that plainly showed she felt as betrayed as Morgana did. She blinked, her brow furrowed in disbelief. "We were going to be tremendous together, with all of Camelot at our feet. We would have made things right."  
  
Morgana swallowed a knot of guilt, not knowing what else to say.   
  
"Why," said Morgause, suddenly shrewd once more, "the sudden change of heart? Is it that guard of yours?"  
  
Panic swelled in her veins, and Morgana could just barely manage to sputter, "What are you talking about?"   
  
"So it's true. Seeing the two of you together so often, I had only hoped it was an act to win his loyalty as his future sovereign," Morgause said flatly. At Morgana's confusion, she added, "Did you think I wouldn't keep an eye on you at the castle?"   
  
"You were _spying_ on me?"  
  
"I was _protecting_ you! The last time you were in that castle, someone poisoned you -- _of course_ I wasn't going to send you back into that den of snakes alone without finding a way to watch over you."  
  
In some other circumstance, it might have been touching, but Morgana couldn't shake the feeling of having been toyed with. "And you never saw fit to tell me this?"  
  
"Oh," Morgause intoned sardonically, "you're only upset because I discovered your little secret, handing your heart out to someone who would as soon skewer it if he knew what you were."  
  
Morgana bit down the urge to defend Leon; this wasn't about him and she wouldn't let him get involved, even if only in name.   
  
"You'd be _thanking_ me for looking out for you," Morgause went on, "if your conscience were clear."  
  
"If my--" Morgana nearly shrieked with outrage. "People are dying because of me. People are _dead_ because of me. My conscience will _never_ be clear."  
  
Morgause looked away, the fire gone out of her eyes. "Then what difference does it make?"  
  
"Please. You can put an end to this right now. No one else has to die."  
  
Morgause was silent for a moment, and then, softly, "No."  
  
Morgana stared.   
  
"No," she said again, more firmly this time. "You said you wanted to effect change, to heal this land of its torment under the Pendragon rule. Well, here I am, doing what you cannot, or will not. The people -- _our_ people -- will be better off for it in the end. You must see that, my sister."  
  
Bringing up their kinship now felt like a slap in the face. Morgana's fists clenched at her sides. "If that word meant anything to you, we wouldn't be having this conversation. My family and friends are in danger, and you do nothing. We may be bound by blood, but I see now that you have no real love for me."   
  
"How can you say that after everything I've done for you?"  
  
"Because it's true, isn't it? All this time, you've played me for a fool. You promised me, Morgause; you _swore_ that you would not put Arthur in harm's way, but even from the very first... That serpent that attacked him when he set out with the search party -- that was you; you set that trap for him."   
  
She let a beat pass, hoping against hope that Morgause might prove her accusations false, but no denial was forthcoming, and there was no triumph in being right. Instead, there was only the prickling of her eyes as she fought to keep her emotions under control; she could not cry in front of this woman who had smiled to her face and stuck a dagger in her back, and it hurt all the more that she had once thought Morgause not only a kindred spirit but a friend, a sister whose word was worth something.   
  
"I thought I could trust you, but you've been lying to me this whole time. Tell me," Morgana said, with difficulty. A part of her didn't want to know the answer, but at this point, the truth, however harsh, could not hurt her any worse than having her faith in Morgause shattered. "If I had succeeded, if I had become Queen -- did you have any intention of following through with the rest of the plans to give up the throne to Arthur in the end?"  
  
For a split second, she could see it clear as day, the placatory lie formulating on Morgause's lips, but at last Morgause only said, "Arthur is weak."  
  
"Arthur will be ten times the king his father is."   
  
"That is no credit to him; any sentient creature could make a better king than Uther Pendragon. Arthur is weak," she repeated, "and difficult; his emotions blind him to justice. Where his own feelings are concerned he sees no one but himself. If you _had_ become Queen, we would have made this land flourish again, in magic and in peace, but Arthur would recognise none of it; he would see only you on the throne, a murderer and a usurper. Did you really think he would accept the crown from you after you deposed his father and stole his claim to the throne? Did you think he would ever forgive you? You cannot have it both ways."   
  
"And yet this is the first I'm hearing of it," Morgana said, a storm of anger rising inside her. "You wanted it this way all along; you knew I wouldn't have any part of it if Arthur was to get hurt, so you let me believe I was doing this for his benefit, for his future and Camelot's, and all the while you were thinking of ways to get rid of him for good!"  
  
"What _use_ is he to us?"  
  
Morgana wanted to scream. " _Use?_ Is that all we are to you? Pawns?"  
  
"There are bigger things at stake, Morgana, than the life of one measly little princeling."  
  
"He's my _brother_."  
  
"Well, he is not mine," Morgause snapped, "and his death will be of no consequence to me, and neither would it be to you, if you actually had the fortitude to fight for what you believe in. _Our people_ , Morgana, need us. How can you turn your back on them now?"  
  
"How can you ask me to choose?"   
  
Morgana forced down the tremor in her voice, hating the unfairness, the impossibility; she was trapped in a situation of her own making. She had trusted Morgause to help her set the scores straight, only to have her choices turned on her, mutated and deformed into blind ruination. She had wanted to mete out justice for all the wrongs done to her, but all she'd managed to do was to hurt everyone else instead, and now she was helpless to make it right again.   
  
There was so much she wished she could change, not least of all the darkness she'd nursed in her heart that had led her here. Hatred only begat more of the same, and if only she had learned that a little earlier she would not find her hand on the hilt of the sword at her belt, hanging there like a lead weight. She drew the sword from its sheath, hating herself for even considering it but knowing she had no other recourse.   
  
"And yet you have chosen," Morgause said, stung. Her face was wan. "You would set yourself against me?"  
  


*

  
  
Things were not going nearly as well as Arthur would have liked, but he was still alive, so that had to at least count for something. He'd managed to successfully connect several more blows while simultaneously dodging the creature's counter attacks. Yet in spite of this fact, the beast had virtually the same ravenous hunger for Arthur's blood as when they'd first met.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur noticed a flash of colour hovering at the edge of the clearing, and his heart sank to his feet. Without once removing his focus from the beast, Arthur took several steps back, his jaw clenching with frustration.  
  
"Merlin, what the _hell_ are you doing out here?" he growled, low and deep.  
  
There was silence, and then the distinct sound of someone emerging from the brush. "I couldn't let you do this alone."  
  
The creature swiped at Arthur again. He ducked out of the way, swinging his sword in a wide arc but this time it barely nicked flesh, distracted as he was by Merlin's presence. "Did you ever consider that I left you back for a _reason_?"  
  
"I suppose it never occurred to you that I'm not all that great when it comes to following orders, sire."  
  
"Yes, I've noticed. And I swear, if we make it out of here alive, you'll be spending so much time in the stocks that you're going to start confusing it with 'home'."  
  
And then there was no more time for arguing, as the creature seemed to get a second wind (not that it had lost its first). Luckily, Merlin's unexpected presence seemed to provide him with enough motivation to slay this beast once and for all. He parried two consecutive blows and was grateful to see that the creature had definitely been slowed by his earlier actions, even if it made little difference.  
  
From somewhere off to the side, Merlin began hurling small stones, branches and seemingly whatever else he could find at the beast that, for the most part, ricocheted off its taut skin and landed uselessly on the ground below, neither injuring nor even irritating the creature.  
  
This reminded Arthur of the last time they'd fought a creature together -- the serpent from the woods. It felt like a distant memory, despite the fact that it had been no more than a month since the encounter. Merlin hadn't been much help then either, but at least he was trying, which was far more than any previous servants had done.  
  
"Do you really think that's going to help kill this thing, Merlin?"  
  
"Better than standing around doing nothing," he replied, and Arthur couldn't help but agree.  
  
He returned his focus to the beast, sussing out the damage he'd already inflicted. Most of its injuries were localised around its front legs with very little to the head and chest, which was what he needed if he hoped to defeat this thing. Rocks and various other debris continued to fly through the air while Arthur dodged attacks and waited for an opening.  
  
Then, quite unexpectedly, a large branch made contact with the creature just as it was rearing up on its hind legs. With an irritated snort, the beast turned its head to glare in Merlin's direction, and Arthur was finally granted the opportunity with which to strike. It was distracted for no more than a few seconds at best, barely enough time to even make a decision, let alone act, but it afforded him all the time he needed. With a swiftness that belied his heaving chest, Arthur charged forward, thrusting his sword upwards into the creature's throat and wrenching back with as much strength as he could muster.  
  
A shrill scream pierced the air as both claws flailed wildly, and Arthur tumbled backwards in his haste to put some distance between himself and the creature. He jumped up to his feet immediately, just in time to witness the beast topple over on its side, blood spilling from the gaping wound in its neck. But even before it fully landed on the ground, the creature was already struggling to right itself, determined to fight to the bitter end, and Arthur had no doubt that its wild, desperate rage could prove to be even more of a challenge if he didn't finish it off right this instant.  
  
It was an incredible risk, but he also knew this was his best chance. Rushing towards the beast, clutching his sword with both hands, Arthur plunged the tip into its chest, yanking and twisting even as he attempted to shield himself from the creature's uncoordinated attacks. It roared in pain, but the sound faded with every passing second, along with its crazed attempts at shoving Arthur away. The beast twitched and squirmed for several agonising moments before finally flopping, limp and ragged, to the ground in defeat. It was dead at last, and both he and Merlin had made it through the ordeal relatively unscathed.  
  
Arthur stood on slightly shaky legs, staring down at the body of the beast while he caught his breath.  
  
After a few moments, he reached over and pulled his sword from the beast's chest, turning to Merlin as he wiped the sweat from his brow, smirking with gleeful pride. "See? I defeated it on my own, as I always have in the past."  
  
Merlin huffed. "Er, I helped, you know. I threw the stones and branches which distracted it in the first place."  
  
"All right, fine. I defeated it _almost_ on my own, with slight assistance from you," he continued, trying his best not to smile. Sometimes toying with Merlin was just too easy. "Though I'm sure I would have been fine on my own. I don't know why you continuously doubt my skills--"  
  
At Merlin's wide-eyed stare and gaping jaw, Arthur froze. Merlin looked every bit the _opposite_ of a proud servant, and the expression on his face gave Arthur pause. Something wasn't right here.  
  
"What is it?" he asked cautiously, already dreading the answer.  
  
"Er…"  
  
The sound of several irritated snorts flitted into his brain, and from there it wasn't difficult to make the leap that another beast had arrived on the scene. What he wasn't prepared for, however, was the appearance of _three_ more of them -- and where the hell had they even come from? -- simply standing no more than a dozen feet away and staring at the pair, looking ready to strike at any moment.  
  


*

  
  
Morgana's mouth twisted, trying to stave off what would be an endless flood of tears if she let her guard down. "I can't let you do this," she said, when she found her voice.  
  
Morgause trained her gaze on the blade, pale sunlight glinting off it, and looked back at Morgana. There was no trace of bitterness or mockery in her face, just a curious incomprehension. "You think you can stop me with that?" she asked.   
  
"I have to try." In truth, Morgana knew she stood no chance. What good was a piece of metal against the ethereal forces of the Old Religion? But they had both made their choice, and now, once united in a single purpose, they stood in opposing corners. Morgana had little means to defend herself, but for the protection of her home and the people she loved, she'd rather die trying than give up without a fight. That Morgause was one of the people she loved -- it had stayed her hand thus far, but Morgana knew that the longer they tarried, the less chance Arthur and Camelot had against the onslaught of the beasts, and it was for that reason she raised her sword, though reluctance weighed on her like an extra set of armour.   
  
Morgause did nothing to meet this challenge. "I do not want to hurt you, Morgana."  
  
"You already have."  
  
Ignoring this, Morgause added, "You cannot kill me. It is not in you; you have shown that time and again."  
  
Morgana pressed the sword point to the hollow of Morgause's throat. "I will if you don't fight back."  
  
Affronted, Morgause forced the sword aside, but with Morgana holding it fast, its tip grazed the skin at her neck, drawing a trace of blood. Without a word, her eyes blazed with molten gold, and Morgana was thrown off her feet, landing ungracefully on her side with a startled cry. Though she made no move to help her up, regret flitted over Morgause's face. "You don't know what you're doing."  
  
Stunned for a moment, Morgana gathered herself and scrambled to her feet, the sword still snug in her grip. She swung it, and was pushed once more to the ground by unseen forces.   
  
"This is madness," Morgause shouted, furious, when Morgana came at her for the third time and fell just as before on her silent command. "You're risking your own life for people who care nothing for you. They show you kindness and love to your face now, but when they find out what you are -- what then?" she demanded, her hand outstretched and holding Morgana off with an invisible screen. "You'll be just another body on the pyre, like the hundreds before you and the hundreds who will come after. Have you learnt _nothing_?"  
  
Morgause's words hit home. Morgana had burned bridges left and right; severing ties with Morgause may have been the right thing to do, but the truth of the matter was that, even if she came out of this alive, she could never return to Camelot and live the same kind of life she'd once done. For all that Uther had said, for all the support Arthur could give her, for all the promises Leon had made, she would always be living a lie, looking over her shoulder, hiding who she really was and what she had done. Whatever happened here today, she would still lose in the end. Nothing would change. Something inside her snapped.  
  
Torn in a hundred directions, the storm of emotions she'd been trying so hard to hold back suddenly erupted out of her in a blinding stream of wild magic, unbidden and reckless. Where it had started fires and shattered furniture and glass before, it now demolished Morgause's shield, and they both staggered backwards at the force of it.   
  
As if by sheer reflex, Morgause's hand shot out and she returned a searing blow that hurled Morgana into a tree trunk with a loud crack.   
  
Morgana slumped over, still conscious but completely disoriented. Distantly, she heard her name, and try as she might she could not clear her vision, making out only a red figure coming towards her at speed. Whether it was defensive instinct or unfinished magic, she would never know, but in that moment, Morgana's only thought was of her sword. With what little strength she had left, she thrust the sword upwards and sank it, deep.   
  
It was a thick warmth flowing across her hand that reawakened her senses, and when the fog cleared, pain was the first thing she registered, but the second made her cry out loud. Her hand was covered in Morgause's blood, and Morgause herself was on her knees, run through, her eyes wide and blinking with surprise.   
  
"Oh, god," Morgana breathed, crawling to her side and bundling Morgause into her arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Oh, god, I'm sorry."  
  
Morgause leaned into her embrace like a child, her face paler with each passing second. "It was not meant to end like this," she said quietly, with difficulty.   
  
"Please, I'm sorry," Morgana cried, her throat tight with panic and despair. "Tell me what to do to help you."  
  
"We could have been so great together, my sister," Morgause said, trying for a smile. "We could have been legends."  
  
Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, and Morgana could only nod and return that half-smile as she watched Morgause's spirit blink away into nothingness.   
  
Blood was drying on her hands, caking over her skin like a disease. She laid Morgause's body on the ground, and with trembling fingers, closed the eyelids over those dead eyes. Gently, slowly, Morgana pulled out her sword, the vivid red stain on her blade suddenly worse than anything she'd ever seen, and she flung the sword to the ground, her stomach lurching painfully. Running over to a nearby tree, she dropped to her knees and wrapped one arm around the trunk for support, fingernails digging into the bark, as dry heaves wracked her body.  
  
When she'd steadied herself, Morgana picked up her sword again and cleaned it, like a warrior should. Unknotting her cloak, she draped it over the body. It seemed disrespectful to just leave Morgause there, so open and unprotected, but there was nothing else she could do. For all she knew, Arthur and the knights were still in danger, and she needed to move.   
  
Swallowing the knot in her throat and forcing herself not to look back, she retraced the route she'd taken, straining her ears for sounds of battle even though her own heavy footsteps seemed unable to penetrate the numbness in her mind.   
  
When she caught sight of bright red cloaks, billowing like banners in the wind, she started running, running until she could see the blue of Leon's eyes.   
  
The battle was over; there was no beast, no death, and Morgana, running on instinct, flew straight into Leon's arms.   
  
"My lady," he murmured into her hair, and she held him fiercely until the other knights averted their gazes.   
  
"You're all right," she said, her voice catching, dizzy with relief. "All of you."  
  
Leon accorded her a warm smile, but looked worriedly about him.   
  
She gripped his arm. "Where's Arthur?"  
  


*

  
  
Arthur was no fool. This time, he knew, there was no way out of this alive. He had barely managed to kill one of the creatures -- and that was due almost entirely to luck. Three was unreasonable, even for someone as skilled as he. He would pass out long before he ever had the chance to slay one more, never mind the fact that it was highly improbable that they would each wait their turn to be killed before the next one attacked. Then he remembered that Merlin was with him, and much as it bruised his ego to admit it, the likelihood of Merlin being able to take care of this situation was far higher than Arthur's, if his suspicions were indeed correct.  
  
"Merlin, _do_ something," Arthur implored, fighting back the voice that kept insisting this would not end well. The beasts were divided in their attention, beady eyes darting back and forth between the pair, but magic or not, Merlin was virtually defenceless should one of them decide to lunge for him.  
  
"What do you want me to do?"  
  
Of all the times for Merlin to decide that his magic was best carried out in secret, this was undoubtedly the most inconvenient moment to choose.  
  
"Surely you can do _something_ \-- hurl a boulder, fell a tree, strike them down with a bolt of lightning? Anything, Merlin, take your pick. I can't take on all of them on my own."  
  
Even out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could see Merlin gaping in surprise, staring at him like a slack-jawed buffoon, as if he never once considered that Arthur might know about his magic. Not that it had ever been confirmed to him, but Arthur was neither blind _nor_ an idiot. He was more than capable of piecing the evidence together on his own, especially when Merlin was so blatantly obvious about the whole thing.  
  
Arthur smiled wryly, hand squeezing the hilt of his sword with white-knuckled intensity, his eyes trained steadily on the beasts before them. "I'm not as stupid as you seem to think I am."  
  
"I don't think you're stupid," Merlin protested.  
  
But there wasn't any time left to debate the issue. These creatures weren't exactly going to wait around while they hashed out all of the finer points of Arthur's implied stupidity or Merlin's cluelessness. As far as Arthur was concerned, either Merlin put his talents to good use right now, or Arthur would order him to run for his bloody life, because there was no way Merlin was going to die today, no matter how high the odds were of Arthur meeting that particular fate.  
  
Tossing a quick glance over at Merlin, he issued one last plea. "Merlin, we've gone this far together, haven't we? I understand why you might be afraid, but please, you have to _trust_ me. Nothing will change between us, no matter what happens here today; you have my word. So, please, by the gods, if you can help us, _do it._ "  
  
It was as though the universe slowed to let Arthur's words sink in; in that moment Arthur saw nothing but himself and Merlin and the shared understanding that everything hinged on this decision.   
  
But it lasted only for a fraction of a second, and in the next, chaos burst to the fore. A snarl was the only warning they had as one of the beasts lunged for him, and before Arthur could even register what was happening, Merlin was pushing him out of the way, tumbling across the ground in Arthur's place, as he was swiped off his feet by the creature's claws. A mess of dirt and blood, his face wracked with pain, and one hand clutched to his soaked chest, which was scored with four deep gashes. Merlin pulled his hand away, blinking uncomprehendingly at the deep red stain blooming on the front of his tunic and dripping through his fingers. Steps away, his attacker sniffed the air, its eyes gleaming with animal pleasure at the scent of blood and torn flesh. It should have been Arthur, with mail and a lifetime of experience to protect his body, not stupid, reckless Merlin bleeding out before his eyes.  
  
Rage made Arthur lunge at the beast, and panic made him careless. The impact threw the beast off balance, but Arthur's sword jarred out of his grip, and in an instant, he was pinned to the ground by the shoulders, retaliation impossible. The pinpoints of claws dug into his mail; the iron rings, so precisely woven and riveted, were painfully useless against the beast's weight, and Arthur felt each claw press and break his skin. A great cave of a mouth growled at him, the mephitic stench of its breath clouding in the air, and a flash of teeth bore down on him.   
  
" _No!_ " Merlin shouted, the effort leaching all colour from his face. With a swiftness that belied his injuries, Merlin's hand shot out, and a deep roar erupted from his throat, a sound that sent a shiver racing through Arthur's body.   
  
The words were incomprehensible, but the anger that shaped every syllable was unmistakeable; the sky would fall at his feet at a single command. But he didn't want the sky, not this time, and when the words were finished, so were the beasts, incinerated to the dust and dirt that bore them.   
  
It occurred, hysterically, to Arthur that he ought to fear this Merlin, this stranger with golden eyes and inexplicable powers beyond the likes of anything he'd ever seen, or that he ought to be furious with Merlin for _everything_. But when Merlin collapsed to his knees, all those thoughts immediately vanished.   
  
He clambered to his feet and rushed to Merlin's side, cradling him in the crook of one arm. "Come on, Merlin," he said, trying to staunch the horrifying bleeding at Merlin's chest, "you blasted those monsters to _nothing_ ; surely you can fix yourself."  
  
Merlin's mouth twisted, as his gaze travelled to his wounds. "I don't think I have anything left," he said in a small, wondering voice. "That last bit took everything out of me, I think."  
  
" _Bloody--_ You are such an _idiot_. What the hell is wrong with you?"  
  
"Couldn't let you die," he said after a moment, as though Arthur was the one who needed mental help.   
  
"Oh, but _you_ can?"  
  
"I'm not going to die," Merlin said, but the words came out a little slurred, and he blinked sleepily.  
  
Arthur slapped him lightly across the cheek. "Not like this. I won't allow it; do you understand? _You're not allowed to die._ "  
  
Merlin tried to laugh; it came out as a horrible gurgle. "Why not?"   
  
"Because I bloody said so, Merlin," Arthur said, desperation creeping up on him. He couldn't lose Merlin, not like this, not ever.   
  
Suddenly morose, Merlin looked at Arthur's hand, splayed across his chest, and sighed. He caught Arthur's stare. "Are you angry with me?"  
  
"For trying to get yourself killed because of me? Yes, extremely."  
  
"No, not that," Merlin said, and the sad resignation in his voice tore at Arthur's heart. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I only wanted to protect you." He gave a watery, wan smile, his fingers grazing over Arthur's. "You're going to be brilliant... Brilliant king."  
  
Arthur shook his head. "Stop it," he said, more harshly than he'd intended; some small, still-functioning part of his head that wasn't overwhelmed with what he'd just seen recognised that, despite his avowals to the contrary, Merlin fully intended to die here in his arms and was attempting to say goodbye. "Don't be stupid. You're not dying; you're not."  
  
"It's been..." said Merlin, his breath a laboured rattle, "an honour to serve you, sire."  
  
Something inside Arthur broke. "Will you _shut up_ , Merlin?"   
  
Anger didn't even begin to cover the mess of emotions tugging Arthur's heart in every direction, and his face was suddenly hot with spilled tears. It just wasn't fair, the audacity of Merlin to save his life and then leave him behind, bereft of his best friend and worst servant and the one person in the world he still trusted beyond all measure, even though Merlin had lied to him from the very first. He needed time, he needed years, to give Merlin what he deserved for keeping secrets, to threaten him with the stocks and extra chores, to name a dungeon cell after him for all the time he was going to spend there. And when that was done, he needed forever, to feel the thrill of anticipation of hearing Merlin's footsteps round the corridor, to wake up to Merlin clanging around in the mornings with breakfast, to listen to Merlin spout off pearls of wisdom mixed in with his usual idiotic babble. To know that he would have someone on his side, no matter what. To show Merlin that same loyalty in return. To tell him.   
  
"I..." said Arthur.   
  
_Need you by my side._  
  
_Need you with me._  
  
_Need you._  
  
_Love you._  
  
His throat constricted, and the words came up as nothing but a gasp of air. He'd never been good at words; once in a while they came to him when he needed to instil courage in his knights before a battle, but he was the one who needed courage now, and in these moments, it always seemed to be Merlin who'd quietly turn up and tell him exactly what he had to hear. Arthur's mouth twisted as he bit back the thought of facing a future without Merlin, of moving forwards without Merlin's strength to keep him afloat and without Merlin's wisdom to keep him grounded.   
  
He didn't have words, but then he'd always preferred being a man of action.   
  
Dimly hating the tiny voice that told him this might be his last chance, Arthur tightened his hold on Merlin and pressed their lips together. His thoughts had no voice, but they had the fervency of his spirit and the abandon of his hopelessness, and he poured everything of himself into the kiss, a man wrecked by love and loss.  
  
When Arthur pulled away at long last, Merlin smiled up at him, and closed his eyes.


	16. Chapter 16

Merlin's world blinked into focus as his eyes fluttered open. He took a moment to take in his surroundings and almost instantly was struck with two thoughts. The first was that he was lying in his bed, and felt as if he'd been there for at least a week, if his stiff muscles were any indication. The second was that he hurt all over -- his head, his chest, his arms -- but he had no idea _why_. Merlin wracked his brain, trying to remember what he might have done to cause this situation, but he came up blank. He heard Gaius puttering around in the other room and tried to call out to him, but the words came out as nothing more than a weak cough, throat painfully parched. But it was enough to alert Gaius to his state of consciousness, and a moment later, the old man peeked his head through the doorway.  
  
Gaius' eyes widened, round as saucers, at the sight of him. "Merlin, my boy, you're awake!"  
  
The relief and joy in his voice was obvious, but Merlin had no recollection of what might've happened to warrant such a reaction.  
  
"You must be thirsty, let me get you something to drink," Gaius said, disappearing into the other room for a moment before returning with a pitcher and cup. He perched on the edge of Merlin's bed and helped dribble some of the cool water into Merlin's mouth before gathering supplies.  
  
There were about a million thoughts racing through his mind, but only one that emerged victorious. "Was I injured?" It was a stupid question, one he knew as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was too late to take it back.  
  
Gaius frowned, halting mid-movement. "You don't remember? You've been here for the past three days."  
  
Shaking his head slightly, Merlin struggled to recall how he'd ended up in pain, lying in this bed for several days on end. It must have been a significant injury to knock him off his feet for this long, though. "No. I don't, Gaius. What happened to me?"  
  
"Ah, well, that's probably for the best anyway. It will come back to you in time, my boy," Gaius said as he started examining Merlin, fingers pressing into the soft flesh at his wrist.  
  
As he continued his examination of Merlin, the blanket was pulled back to reveal a large white bandage across his chest. Merlin stared down at it in wonder, finally making the connection between the dull throb and the original source of the pain. A vague notion that he'd been struck in the chest by something floated back to him. And then, memories -- of hunting down Arthur in the forest, of being attacked by a behemoth, of revealing his magic and killing the beasts, of Arthur holding him in his arms while he tried to say good-bye, of being kissed with the urgency and desperation of a hopeless man -- came rushing back, and the emotional turmoil of it all twisted and churned in his gut.  
  
"Oh, god, I _do_ remember. Arthur was out in the woods all alone, and Morgana went after Morgause," Merlin mumbled, almost to himself.  
  
"Mm, yes," Gaius agreed, peeling the bandage from Merlin's chest with great care. "That's right."  
  
Glancing down, Merlin surveyed the damage to his body from the behemoth attack. There were four long gashes spanning almost the length of his chest from the behemoth claw that had torn apart his flesh, mostly scabbed over at this point, and several fading bruises that followed the line of the injury, somewhere between purple and greenish in hue. Merlin was no physician, but as the injury had been sustained a mere three days ago, he thought the wound appeared to be healing rather quickly, all things considered.  
  
"Arthur wasn't injured, was he? He's all right?" Merlin asked, his heart lurching with the realisation that he still didn't know if Arthur had made it away unscathed.  
  
Gaius nodded. "Yes, he's fine. A few cuts and bruises, but very few injuries otherwise."  
  
He couldn't quite hold back the smile that formed on his lips, relief settling over him. "Good. That's good."  
  
And then Merlin remembered that Morgana had gone off to confront Morgause on her own, and had no idea whether or not she'd survived. "What about Morgana?"  
  
There was a brief pause as he moved away to retrieve a bottle from the side table, and then, "She's fine. In fact, she single-handedly brought down the sorceress, Morgause."  
  
"Brought down?" Merlin blinked, confused.  
  
"Killed her," Gaius clarified.  
  
"Oh." Merlin fell silent as Gaius continued to tend to his injuries, allowing this information to sink in. Morgana had killed Morgause? Had it been intentional, or an accident, he wondered, and had she used magic to accomplish the task? The thought reminded him of his own indiscretions, and he wondered if Gaius was aware that he'd revealed his magic to Arthur. It was fairly likely that he did know, but on the off-chance he was still unaware, now might be the best time for Merlin to come clean. Surely Gaius wouldn't yell at him in his current state.  
  
"Um, I should probably tell you--" Merlin said, pausing to see how Gaius might react, but his impassive face revealed nothing. "I, uh-- Well, I sort of used magic. In front of Arthur. And he saw me do it. So, er, he knows. About my magic, I mean."  
  
Surprisingly, Gaius barely even reacted at all, save for the bemused look he tossed in Merlin's direction. "Had you told him anything of your magic prior to this point?"  
  
Merlin shook his head as Gaius applied some sort of salve to his wounds, eyes squinting shut against the sudden stinging sensation. "No. It was like he already knew."  
  
"I can't imagine how. You're usually so _careful_ ," Gaius said, shooting Merlin a pointed look. "But you're very lucky that Arthur was your only witness, otherwise you might not still be here."  
  
He knew that. Merlin was incredibly fortunate. All the same, he couldn't help but wish there'd been another way. He would have preferred telling Arthur directly -- even if he'd already known -- instead of having his secret forced out into the open through unfortunate circumstances. He wondered, vaguely, if Arthur's stance regarding Merlin's magic had changed at all, once he'd been given time to fully process the information. Or worse, if he'd lied to Merlin in the first place about not caring, seeing as how his death had appeared to be imminent anyway. The fact that Arthur had apparently suspected he had magic prior to the behemoth incident and had clearly chosen not to act on it was a hopeful sign. Yet suspecting someone was a sorcerer and actually seeing confirmation of those suspicions were entirely different matters. Even the faintest idea that he might have ruined everything with his recent actions filled him with anxiety. But one thing was for certain -- and in this he was able to take some comfort -- the fact that he was still in his own bed told him that at the very least, Arthur had not informed his father of Merlin's abilities, nor was it likely that he would. For now, without being able to learn anything more until morning, it would have to be enough.  
  
"I know," Merlin huffed, trying not to sound petulant, because in truth, he deserved a dressing down about his lack of self-preservation skills. "But could you perhaps save the lecture for another time?"  
  
Gaius was applying the new bandages now. "I have no doubt that you'd listen just as well in a week as you would at this very moment, but in this case, you did a good thing, Merlin, and I'm proud of you."  
  
"Thank you," he said, relishing the praise, rarity that it was.  
  
Shifting just barely, Merlin suddenly noticed that something felt different about the bed. It seemed more spacious, like he actually had room to move, and it was softer than the hard straw he'd become accustomed to. He squirmed and tried to bounce a little in an attempt to test his newly discovered theory. "Is this a new bed?" he asked.  
  
Gaius tutted softly at his actions. "Yes. Arthur had it brought around a couple of days ago; he thought it might help speed along your recovery."  
  
That didn't sound like something Arthur would do, which meant that Merlin truly must have been on the brink of death. Oddly enough, the idea filled him with contentment -- that Arthur cared enough about him to obtain a new _bed_ specifically to help with his recovery -- and his heart swelled.  
  
"I want to see him," Merlin said, suddenly longing for nothing else but to be near Arthur again.  
  
"I don't think that's wise right now, Merlin," Gaius said, turning to rinse his hands in a basin of water next to the bed.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because I only just managed to convince him to leave for the night. Let him get some rest first."  
  
Merlin waved a hand dismissively, the action looking far more feeble than he'd intended it to. "Surely he can sleep later--" Merlin's voice faded when Gaius' words finally sunk in. "Wait. What do you mean you 'managed to convince' Arthur to leave? He hasn't been here that much, has he?" There was no hopeful tone to his voice, no eager smile, no fluttering in his chest. Or at least that's what Merlin told himself.  
  
"Arthur has barely left your side since your injury, save for attending to his usual duties. I dare say he's spent more time in my workshop the last few days than _I_ have."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"You sound surprised," Gaius said, smiling fondly. "You should give him more credit. He's been worrying himself silly over you."  
  
Merlin perked up, the hopeful tone getting away from him now. "Did he say so?"  
  
"Of course not. It's _Arthur_. But he didn't have to. Anyone could see it written plain across his face every time he looked at you."  
  
A flush crept up the back of Merlin's neck and stained his cheeks pink, and he suddenly wished it were darker in the room. "Oh. Well, uh, I'm glad."  
  
For a moment, it appeared as though Gaius wanted to say something else -- perhaps ask a question -- but at the last moment he shook his head, as if to clear it of all thought, holding his tongue for now, it would seem. "You need to get some rest. But first, drink this. It should help with your recovery."  
  
Reluctantly, Merlin took the phial from Gaius' outstretched hand and swallowed the revolting concoction in one gulp. He was asleep again before his head even hit the pillow.  
  


* * *

  
  
Morgana stared out of the window, seeing nothing. She had begged off dinner with Uther, claiming a headache, not sure she could stand another minute of seeing his eyes shine with pride that she had singlehandedly brought Morgause down. She'd had to lie, again, about what had happened and what she had done and what it had meant to her.   
  
It had been unavoidable, telling Leon, and then Arthur, when they'd both seen the blood all over her hands. And by the time it had got back to Uther, the celebrations were inevitable: Camelot had once again triumphed over sorcery. Amidst the wine and revelry, nobody had noticed Arthur on the edge of falling apart from worrying about Merlin, and nobody was aware of the cold hand that gripped her own heart every time somebody stupidly babbled a toast in her honour.   
  
Perhaps Leon might have, more perceptive than most, but she hadn't spoken to him since they'd got back. Buoyed by the news of Morgause's death, Uther had stood Leon down from duty that very night, leaving Morgana free to come and go as she pleased.   
  
She supposed it should have made her happy. But she'd been grateful, at least, for the chance to leave the castle unattended, so she could give Morgause a decent funeral, even if the obsequies were nothing more than a fire burnt in quiet of the night and whispered apologies no one would hear.   
  
She wouldn't have known what to say to Leon anyway. It wasn't as though they were saying goodbye, after all -- at least, not for the time being. But then a day went by, and another, without her saying anything at all, and the more words she left unspoken the less sure of herself she became.   
  
The roiling emotions that had caused her magic to flare up during the confrontation with Morgause were just a simmer now, but Morgana knew she couldn't avoid them forever. And although the thoughts had been unwilled and unwelcome, it was clear that she'd been telling herself the truth: staying in Camelot and pretending everything was the same would only engender the same bitterness that had driven her out before.   
  
She couldn't risk something like that ever happening again and she needed to learn how to deal with her magic in a safe, controlled way so she wouldn't repeat her mistakes, wouldn't trap herself in her own lies again. But where Leon stood in all this, she couldn't say. And the longer she avoided finding out, the more her courage ebbed away. She had to come clean with him -- _wanted_ to -- but every time she set foot outside her door, fear chased her back in.   
  
Morgana turned away from the window, shaking away thoughts of Leon, hear Gwen knocking at the door and coming in with a tray.   
  
"Are you feeling a bit better?" Gwen asked, setting the dinner things on the table.   
  
"I am, thank you," Morgana replied, smiling, glad of Gwen's presence. "How's Merlin coming along?"  
  
"He's come to," she said, flushed with pleasure, "and Gaius says he's definitely on the mend, so that's good news."  
  
"That's wonderful," Morgana said, only mildly surprised to realise that she meant it. "And how... are the knights?" she asked lightly.  
  
Gwen ducked her head, trying to hide a smile. "They're all doing quite well, all patched up since the attack. Just about the same as when you asked this morning."   
  
"Ah," said Morgana, with the sneaking suspicion that Gwen was purposefully withholding information for her own amusement.   
  
"Of course," Gwen went on, pouring out a measure of wine, "there _is_ one in particular who keeps asking me about you, and I think there's one in particular you keep wanting to ask me about, so if I were you I might go and see that one knight in particular for myself?"  
  
Morgana willed herself not to blush, but her cheeks still felt as though they were on fire. "I cannot imagine what you're talking about, Gwen."  
  
"Yes, silly of me," Gwen said, not even trying to maintain a semblance of decorum now. "I must be thinking of some other Sir Leon and Lady Morgana."  
  
"Gwen!"   
  
The cheekiness dissolved into an expression of gentle commiseration, and Gwen reached over to squeeze her hand. "What's stopping you?"  
  
Morgana shook her head. "I don't know," she said, a small, unsteady laugh winding its way out of her throat.   
  
"He's a good man, and he cares for you."  
  
"Do you think so?"  
  
"You know he does."  
  
She did know. Everything Leon had said and done came straight from his heart, incapable of guile. It was what had first drawn her to him in the first place; all the knights regularly spoke of honour and nobility, but Leon lived it, and she owed it to him to give that honour in return.   
  
At Gwen's encouraging look, Morgana pushed her uncertainty down once and for all. "Well," she said, "if you insist."  
  
"I do," Gwen said loftily, smiling. "And I happen to know that he's in his rooms waiting for Gaius to make the rounds. Dinner can keep for a bit, don't you think?"  
  
Morgana pulled her friend close and held her tight. "What would I do without you, Gwen?"  
  
"All kinds of silly things," Gwen said softly. "Go."  
  
Morgana hugged her again, and pushed herself out the door before second thoughts could crowd her intentions out. Apprehension followed on velvet footsteps as she swept through the corridors, towards the wing of the castle that the knights and squires inhabited, and although some of them gave her slightly quizzical looks in passing, her path was unhindered, and soon she found herself standing outside Leon's rooms.   
  
The door was ajar, and through the gap, she could hear Gaius talking, telling Leon that the wound he'd sustained in the fight was healing nicely and that he'd soon be back on the training grounds, good as new.   
  
Morgana knocked, and eased herself halfway in before she could talk herself out of it. "Evening," she said.   
  
"Oh, Morgana," said Gaius, surprised, his hands mid-air, holding a strip of bandage.   
  
Leon got to his feet. "My lady," he said, slightly abashed, as he glanced down at his shirtless, bruised torso. An angry, red gash lined his upper left arm, a souvenir from Morgause's beast.   
  
"Gaius, you must have your hands full. Let me?" Morgana nodded towards the clean bandage in his hands.   
  
"Ah," he said, momentarily startled at the request. "Yes, that would-- By all means." Gathering up his basket, Gaius bid them both a good night and scuttled out of the room, pausing for just a moment before closing the door quietly behind him.   
  
Morgana picked up the cloth. Silently, she took Leon's hand and rested his arm over her shoulder while she twined the bandage around his wound, a sudden thrill skittering across her skin at being so close to him, touching him. "How are you feeling?" she asked, to cover the sound of her heart thudding against her ribcage.   
  
"I-- I'm fine," he said, watching her. "And you, my lady?"  
  
She lifted her eyes to his, smiling. "It's Morgana."   
  
"Morgana," he repeated, a whisper.  
  
Slowly, expertly, she secured the bandage and moved his arm off her shoulder, though their fingers tangled briefly. Unsure of herself, lost for where to even start, Morgana looked around the room helplessly; it was ordered and neat as one might expect of him, but what caught her attention was a golden yellow flower in full bloom at his bedside, standing proudly in a makeshift vase.   
  
"Is that...?"   
  
Leon followed her gaze over his shoulder. "A yellow peony, yes. It reminds me of--" He stopped abruptly, but seemed to come to an internal decision to forge ahead, and said, catching her eye, "It reminds me of a remarkable woman I know. It's her favourite flower."  
  
Morgana bit back her surprise. It couldn't be pure coincidence, but there was no way he could have known, either. She remembered a turn around the royal gardens with him, what seemed like an age ago, telling him about her father and his habit of picking flowers for her, and teasing Leon about guessing what her favourite flower was. She had favoured a pink peony that day, she recalled, but... "Why yellow?" she asked, feeling an unreasonable amount of anticipation at his answer, like something tremendous hinged on it.   
  
One side of his mouth tilted upwards as he went to retrieve the flower. "Gold," he said softly, offering the bright blossom to her. "The colour of her father's crest."  
  
Unexpected tears pricked her eyes. It wasn't something he could have found out just by asking around; even Gwen didn't know. The fact that he had spent that much thought on something she might not have ever seen was astonishing. "How did you know?"  
  
"I was watching you that day," he admitted, "and knowing how close you were to your father, it made sense to me."  
  
Morgana smiled, taking a step forward, twirling the stalk between her fingers. "Did you desecrate the royal gardens for me?"   
  
Leon chuckled softly, his chin tucked downward. "I'd do it again."   
  
"I have no doubt. Thank you," she laughed, and rose up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.   
  
His hand went to her waist, and in that instant, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to just slide into his arms and press her lips to his, but as much as she wanted to, Morgana forced herself to pull away. They had much to talk about -- _she_ , at least, had a lot to explain -- and she owed it to him to tell him the truth before anything else happened, so he could decide for himself what he wanted out of this, whatever it was that they had.   
  
She smiled at him reassuringly, though reassurances were something she sorely needed herself, and gestured for him to sit. "Leon, I have to tell you something," she said haltingly, "about me."  
  
"All right," Leon said, curious, a flicker of worry sparking in his eyes.   
  
Her fingers twisted in her lap. "And if you never want to speak to me again after this, I understand, but you have to know I'd never intentionally hurt you."  
  
He leaned forward. "Morgana, what's wrong?"  
  
"I'm not who you think I am. Or-- Or maybe I am," she amended, an uncertain laugh juddering past her lips; no more than three sentences in and already she was unravelling. "I'm sure you've suspected, haven't you? That I have magic."  
  
She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting -- something dramatic, maybe; a lightning strike, alarm bells, fury -- but Leon only remained stock still for a moment, before nodding.   
  
"Yes," he said slowly, "I remember thinking it was strange that all these accidents kept happening in your room, and... All those talks we had about magic -- I confess I did wonder."  
  
"Well, you were right," Morgana said, and looked down at her hands, tightening around each other, afraid that if she looked Leon in the eye she might lose her nerve. "I didn't know it myself until about a year ago. I've always had very vivid dreams, but they started getting more and more terrifying, and some of them-- Some of them came true. And there wasn't anyone I could turn to for help." She paused, feeling tendrils of bitterness creep up, and waited until they went away again. "I was scared, and angry. I didn't _ask_ for magic, and I didn't _want_ it. I felt like some kind of... abomination, and I knew Uther would never understand; no one would, not in Camelot. And when Morgause came along, for the first time since this all began, I felt accepted, loved for who I truly was, not like some dirty secret that had to be locked away."  
  
"Morgause..." Leon murmured. "She was the sorceress that--"  
  
"I killed her, yes. I had to stop her," Morgana affirmed, in a voice that wasn't really hers, so practical, like her heart didn't hurt. "She was my sister."  
  
Leon shook his head lightly, uncomprehending.   
  
"We were separated before I even had a chance to know her," she explained. "And when she came back for me, I wasn't so alone any more. She made me feel like there wasn't anything wrong with me after all."  
  
"There isn't," Leon said firmly.   
  
Morgana tried to smile, loving Leon in that moment, but there was more to come. She took a deep breath, trying to drown the quaver in her voice. "I wasn't taken. I was with Morgause during those months," she admitted quietly, "making plans to dethrone the king. That's why I came back. I felt so angry and abandoned, and I had every intention of killing Uther for what he'd done to all those innocent people for the past twenty years."  
  
Leon said nothing, his hands steepled and pressed against his mouth, staring down at the floor.  
  
"I'm not proud of myself for it," Morgana went on. "I let things get completely out of hand, and people got hurt. And for that, I am truly sorry. But whatever else you think of me, please know that I couldn't go through with it because you made the difference. You had every reason for vengeance and hatred, but you're so much stronger than that, and I only wish I could have learned that from you a little earlier."  
  
Still Leon remained silent; she didn't know what she'd come hoping for -- understanding, forgiveness, maybe even an upbraiding, but none seemed forthcoming, and Morgana rose from her seat. His gaze followed her upward.   
  
"I'm grateful for all your help, even if you didn't know you were giving it," she said, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in her dress to stop her hands shaking, "and I will always think of you as a friend, but I understand if-- if you don't, if you can't feel the same about me."  
  
Slowly, Leon eased himself from the chair. "What are you going to do now?"  
  
It wasn't quite the blank, stiff demeanour Leon had shown her after he'd seen her kiss Uther, but it was close, and before she could stop it, tears welled up in her eyes again. But she only had herself to blame. She inhaled deeply, trying to wrest some calm back. "Uther's still the same, Camelot is still the same. I'm the one who's changed, and I can't pretend everything's fine. I can't risk becoming that person again. I can't risk hurting everyone again. I can't stay," she said, and as soon as she'd said it she knew she couldn't take it back; her mind was made up. Even so, the tears spilled over her cheeks.   
  
Leon stepped closer, then, and cupped the side of her face with one hand, brushing the tears away, his warmth returning and enveloping her in a halo. "Can I change your mind?"  
  
That quiet gentleness only made her want to cry harder, and he wrapped her in his arms until the shaking subsided. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to keep crying on you," Morgana said, feeling an inappropriate laugh bubble up in her throat as she wiped at his chest.   
  
He smoothed her hair reassuringly. "Morgana, I can't say that I agree with what you did, or what you meant to do, but I know what it is to live with that kind of anger, that injustice, and I can't fault you for that."   
  
"But?" she asked in a small voice, still expecting something else, something worse.   
  
Leon shook his head. "I meant what I said that day. This doesn't change how I feel about you."  
  
"How can it not? I-- I tried to destroy Camelot!"  
  
"But you didn't. And it's not because you failed; it's because you chose to stop it from happening," he said, fixing an intent gaze on her, "and that says more to me about who you really are than any dreams or plans or magic."   
  
It wasn't absolution, and in any case that wasn't really his to give -- Morgana knew that could only come from herself, but still she felt as though a massive weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and she hugged him again, tight. "How are you so lovely?" she murmured into his skin.   
  
Leon chuckled, and it rumbled through his body. "I do my best," he said, his fingers making little, soothing circles at the small of her back.   
  
There was something so comforting about being wrapped up in him that Morgana, for all her intentions for the future, wished she could stay here, like this, forever. Slowly, her hands travelled up his back, just a ghost of a trail, and she felt him shiver. Morgana lifted her head from his shoulder, their cheeks brushing, and then there was just the minutest of spaces between them. She couldn't say who closed it first, their lips just barely touching, tentative, experimental, like dancing too close to a flame. Then, softly, he pressed forward, and nothing had ever burned brighter.   
  
Pulled tight and close against him, Morgana buried her hands in his hair and opened her mouth to his, a slow, drugging kiss that made her feel as light as air and as though she was made for nothing but this, and for a while, she let herself believe it.   
  


* * *

  
  
A loud rapping at the door was what eventually pulled Arthur from his tenuous grasp on sleep. He'd barely slept the last few days, so wrought with worry over Merlin that his nights were filled with restless tossing and turning, or plagued with nightmares of Merlin's death. Cold fear stabbed at his heart at the sound, clearly an indication of something urgent, and Arthur couldn't bear the thought of a page arriving to inform him that Merlin had passed on, in spite of Gaius' insistence that he'd been improving.  
  
"Enter," he called, sitting up and mentally bracing himself for whatever it was that he was about to hear.  
  
As anticipated, a dark-haired page stepped cautiously into the room, looking contrite. "I apologise for waking you, my lord, but I bring word from the royal physician, Gaius."  
  
"Yes, what is it?" Arthur forced the words from his lungs, trying -- and likely failing -- to appear impassive.  
  
The page ducked his head. "It's about your manservant, Merlin."  
  
Was everyone employed in the castle this infuriatingly obtuse? Arthur wanted to reach over and shake the answer from the whelp, but he managed to muster up some restraint, hands fisting in the sheets at his fingertips instead. "What _about_ him?"  
  
As if finally catching on to Arthur's impatience, the boy spat the words hurriedly. "Gaius requested that I inform you at once that Merlin is awake and has asked for you."  
  
The page continued to talk, but Arthur wasn't able to process anything beyond _Merlin is awake._ For a moment, he forgot how to breathe as the news sank in, filling him with overwhelming relief, and much to his immense embarrassment, Arthur suddenly found himself on the verge of tears, all of the emotion of the past several weeks finally bubbling to the surface. With a curt nod and _'thank you'_ , he dismissed the page, shoving his emotional turmoil back down where it belonged, for now.  
  
Arthur was out of bed and dressed in a flash, hurrying down the corridors without a care in the world as to who might see him. All he knew was that he needed to reach Merlin as soon as he possibly could.  
  
When he reached Gaius' chambers, he found the door partially ajar. Knocking lightly, Arthur pushed the door open when no response was immediately forthcoming. A cursory scan of the room revealed that it was empty, and he felt oddly relieved by that knowledge. He'd spent a great deal of time with Merlin over the past several days, which meant that he'd often been in Gaius' presence as well. Though Gaius was getting on in age and his eyesight wasn't what it used to be, that hadn't prevented him from noticing the way Arthur held Merlin's hand while he shared news about his day, or occasionally brushed the dark fringe from Merlin's eyes. Gauis hadn't expressed any disapproval, but he often shot Arthur curious looks that unleashed discomfort in Arthur's belly, like a parent carefully eyeing their child's suitor and assessing their worthiness. It hadn't been enough to convince him to stop, because Merlin meant too much to him for that. Besides, he doubted that Gaius would have ever tried to keep him away, but he often found reasons to slink away on the spur of the moment anyway, when it appeared as though Gaius might question him about what was going on. Thankfully, though, his reunion with Merlin would be a private affair.  
  
Sucking in a nervous breath, Arthur eyed Merlin's bedroom door with no small measure of elation, and perhaps an element of fear. A great deal of very sensitive and relationship-altering information had been revealed in a short period of time, and there was no way of knowing what Merlin thought about everything. He might not even remember any of it happening at all, which Gaius had noted was a possibility.  
  
Making the trek across the room, Arthur reached up to knock softly on Merlin's door and was surprised to note the way his hand trembled.  
  
"Come in," he heard from the other side.  
  
He sucked in a deep, calming breath before pulling open the door and stepping inside. Merlin was lying in bed, covers tucked around him like a cocoon. His breathing was slow and easy, but his skin looked pink in the light, void of the last remaining signs of the deathly pallor which had been present in the first few hours after the attack and lingered until the night before. At Arthur's entrance, Merlin's entire demeanour brightened, breaking out into a blinding grin, and Arthur could do nothing but smile at him in return, even as his heart did a little flip in his chest.  
  
They stood staring at one another for a few seconds, until Merlin gestured for Arthur to come sit beside him.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Arthur asked as he perched himself on the edge of the bed.  
  
Merlin's hand reached up to splay carefully across his chest, and he bit his lip thoughtfully. "Like I've been slashed apart by a behemoth," he joked with a smile, but Arthur wasn't amused.  
  
"You could have got yourself killed, you know," Arthur said, already feeling his emotions rumbling to the surface. "Why did you jump in my way?"  
  
"I couldn't let you die," Merlin said with a shrug, as if that explained everything. It was infuriating at times, how willing Merlin was to save Arthur's life at the expense of his own. Did he truly not know how valuable his life was to so many people, including -- no, _especially_ to -- Arthur? Merlin carefully shifted into a sitting position, and Arthur instinctively provided assistance with the process.  
  
"I hope you know that you're an _idiot_ ," he said, once he was confident that Merlin was comfortable and properly supported in the bed. They'd had a conversation similar to this one before, but he figured it was worth repeating. It might take a hundred thousand conversations like these to get the words to finally stick in Merlin's brain.  
  
However, instead of the barb he was anticipating, Merlin turned a fond smile on him. "Yes, well, if I ever happen to forget that important fact, I've no doubt that you'll be right there to remind me of it, _sire_."  
  
Before Arthur was able to come up with a witty rejoinder, Merlin abruptly began to cough. It wasn't a particularly forceful cough, but considering the state of his chest -- Arthur hadn't seen it, but he could only imagine -- it sounded like a painful affair.  
  
"Are you all right? Here, have some of this," Arthur said once the coughing had slowed, picking up a cup of water from the bedside table. He handed the cup to Merlin, while his other hand rested supportively on Merlin's shoulder.  
  
Gratefully, Merlin accepted the cup and raised it to his lips, taking several long gulps before pressing it back into Arthur's waiting hand. Arthur's eyes unconsciously fell to a few drops of water that dripped from the corner of Merlin's mouth, and before he could think better of it, he reached over and wiped away the liquid with the pad of his thumb.  
  
He felt Merlin's fingers curl around his own, squeezing gently before Merlin raised their hands to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to Arthur's palm. Arthur's gaze flickered to Merlin's eyes, beautiful blue pools that he'd feared he would never see again, and for the first time since walking back into Merlin's room, it truly sunk in just how close he'd actually come to losing him forever.  
  
"Arthur--"  
  
In one surprisingly quick movement Merlin leaned forward and pulled Arthur into his arms, wrapping him in a tight embrace. For a brief moment, Arthur froze, startled by the action, before he relaxed once more, his own arms tentatively circling around Merlin's waist. He had no idea where to begin, how on earth to even attempt to express everything he was feeling. He wanted nothing more than to crush Merlin to him, to feel the beating of Merlin's heart against his chest, but he was afraid of hurting him.  
  
"I'm not as fragile as you think I am." Merlin's breath puffed hot into his neck, as if he could sense what Arthur was thinking, and he was grateful. "I feel at least five times better than I did yesterday, and more than twenty times better than the day before."  
  
The claim was outrageous, given the fact that Merlin hadn't even been awake two days prior, and yet, Arthur couldn't help but appreciate the sentiment behind the words.  
  
"But you're not as tough as you think you are either," Arthur pointed out. His only response came by way of a gentle squeeze.  
  
Silence hung heavy, palpable in the air between them. Arthur buried his face into the crook of Merlin's neck, brushing his nose against the soft skin he found there as Merlin's hand continued to stroke his back.  
  
"I thought you were going to die," Arthur eventually whispered against Merlin's ear, revealing his most heart-wrenching fear as he pressed further into Merlin.  
  
To feel Merlin warm and alive in his arms, to know they still had time for all the things he'd only recently acknowledged were desired and important, seemed to push Arthur to his breaking point, and he found himself fighting back a sob. It felt absurd to him that the person who had nearly died saving his life was the one who now provided _him_ comfort, but he selfishly clung to Merlin as though he was a lifeline. Maybe in some ways -- in a _lot_ of ways -- he was. Merlin merely held him close, rubbing soothing circles down his back, and simply allowed him to be. It should have felt awkward or out of place, but strangely, Arthur found it the exact opposite -- comforting, reassuring. There was also the unfamiliar sensation of feeling _safe_ here in Merlin's arms, which was something Arthur could honestly say he'd never imagined in his entire life.  
  
Pulling back a fraction, Merlin tilted his head to nuzzle the side of Arthur's face. Merlin pressed his lips to the skin at the bottom of Arthur's neck and planted a soft kiss to the spot as Arthur shuddered beneath his touch. Encouraged, Merlin trailed kisses up his neck, across his jaw line, running his fingertips down the side of Arthur's face before brushing his lips against each of Arthur's eyes.   
  
Finally breaking the embrace, Merlin reached up to stroke Arthur's cheek with his thumb, and Arthur opened his eyes to meet Merlin's gaze. The love and affection he saw radiating from Merlin's eyes nearly bowled him over, and he couldn't believe he'd never noticed before how much Merlin cared for him.  
  
"I thought you were going to die," he repeated, not sure if it was a justification for his slightly odd behaviour or simply a statement of the only thought he was capable of articulating at present. Either way, though, he knew they were on the crux of a very distinct change in their relationship, and the thought was exhilarating, if not minutely terrifying.  
  
"I know. But I didn't." Merlin tossed him a watery smile, eyes filled with unshed tears of his own. "I'm all right, and I promise you I'm going to be around to fold your laundry incorrectly, break valuable castle dishes, and call you a prat no matter how many times you tell me I can't talk to you like that."  
  
Arthur grinned, a laugh bubbling forth, and then he leaned forward and closed the distance. Something sparked instantly between them, the heat and fire of their repressed feelings finally finding an outlet as their lips met, and Arthur was quite sure this would go down in history as one of the greatest moments of his life. Mouths opened readily, tongues slipping against one another with such familiarity and ease that it was almost as if they'd been designed to do just this. Arthur moaned, deep and low, in the back of his throat, fingers tugging gently on the hair at the nape of Merlin's neck as though they could somehow get closer than they already were. Merlin's hands fisted at the back of Arthur's tunic, alternately tugging on and smoothing out the fabric as their lips moved against one another. The kiss was slow and deep, an element of desperation and need guiding it, but never quite pushing it over the line. A spike of arousal shot straight to Arthur's groin as Merlin moaned into his mouth, and he pulled back to suck at Merlin's lower lip. A breathy laugh slipped past Merlin's mouth, and Arthur thought it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.  
  
For a while, Arthur forgot about the need for air, the need for food and water or anything else, really, save for the taste of Merlin on his tongue, the feel of him in his arms, the desire, white and hot, coiling in his belly. There was no prince and servant, no kingdom and responsibility, only Arthur and Merlin, pure, beautiful, _genuine_ , and he knew then that nothing else mattered.  
  
Which was why, he reasoned, he neither heard the door open, nor the sound of footsteps entering, until there was someone already reacting to what had transpired between them.  
  
"Oh! Oh, god. I'm-- I'm sorry. I didn't realise you were-- Oh, _god_."  
  
Arthur nearly fell off the side of the bed as he hastily broke his kiss with Merlin, head whipping around to glare at the intruder in the room. He was not the least bit surprised to see Morgana standing in the doorway, face ducked and cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment.  
  
"Don't you know how to _knock_?" he demanded.  
  
"I _did_ ," she said forcefully, still avoiding his eyes. " _Twice_. But you were obviously too busy to notice. Did it never occur to you to lock the door? What if I'd been Gaius? Or, I don't know, _Uther_?"  
  
The thought sent an involuntary ripple of anxiety through Arthur's body, and he shuddered visibly. "Morgana! Don't say things like that."  
  
"Well, it's true."  
  
"I don't care. Just... don't. Not right now." He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, carding his fingers through his hair, and cast a sidelong glace at Merlin, who looked rather flustered. Rightfully so. "Did you want something, Morgana?"  
  
She blanched for a second, before recovering. "I-- well, yes, but. It can wait."  
  
"You've already interrupted us, so you might as well just spit it out," Arthur said, with reluctance, and to his great surprise, Morgana actually looked even _more_ abashed than before.  
  
"I was hoping to speak with Merlin, actually," she said, indicating her intent with a sideways nod in his direction.  
  
He had no justification for the sudden wave of protectiveness that washed over him, and yet he still heard himself say, "Does it have to be right now? He's still recovering."  
  
"And yet he can do all of this--" she waved her hand around rather aimlessly in their general direction, "--with you?"  
  
He was forced to admit that she had a fairly valid point. Still, somewhat selfishly, he wanted Merlin all to himself right now. But before he could even say anything, he felt Merlin's hand cover his own, squeezing gently. "It's all right, Arthur. I'm perfectly capable of talking to Morgana."  
  
Protesting would have been easy, but in the end, he knew Morgana well enough to know that she could wait them out. Or, she'd disappear and come back later at an even more inopportune moment. With an exaggerated sigh, Arthur nodded. "As long as you're sure."  
  
"I am," Merlin said, and then tugged him close, pressing a feathery kiss to Arthur's lips. Lowering his voice so that Morgana couldn't hear, he added, "We have all the time in the world now. There's no need to rush anything, right?"  
  
Arthur's heart swelled in his chest, making him feel light and almost giddy before shaking himself. "Yes, right. Well, I'll be back soon," he said, smiling a bit stupidly in Merlin's direction as he stood.  
  
Just before he left, Arthur grabbed hold of Morgana's arm and leaned in close. "Don't tire him out too much."  
  
A smirk formed on her lips as she nodded. "I won't, I promise."  
  
And with that settled, Arthur took his leave, thoughts already drifting to the next time he would be with Merlin.


	17. Chapter 17

Morgana's eyes trailed after Arthur as he exited the room, only turning back to Merlin once she was confident he'd truly left them alone. After pushing the bedroom door firmly shut, she swept across the room, tugging a stool over to Merlin's bedside.  
  
"How are you feeling?" she asked, eyeing him curiously.  
  
Merlin shrugged, shifting in the bed. "Much better than I should be, at this point."  
  
"Yes, I can see that," Morgana said before she could stop herself, and it was almost endearing the way her words caused Merlin's face to flush, from the bottom of his neck right to the tip of his ears.  
  
"Erm, well." He scratched awkwardly at the back of his ear, ducking his head.  
  
"I'm just pleased that your recovery is going well," said Morgana, and she meant it. Recent events had opened her eyes to many things about which she'd previously possessed little to no knowledge, and it was forcing her to re-evaluate the way she viewed the past several months. By no means did it excuse the fact that Merlin had attempted to poison her, but at least now she felt better equipped to understand his perspective. Their relationship was certainly not fixed yet, but it was in the process of being repaired, which was a significant step forward. And if Merlin was open to what she'd come to speak with him about, it would only speed up that recovery.  
  
"Thank you. Gaius says I'm healing remarkably quickly," said Merlin with a shy smile.  
  
She smiled back, warm and sincere, before taking on a more serious expression. "Look, Merlin, I wanted to say thank you. For taking care of Arthur, I mean. But also for believing in my visions and trusting in me. After I-- well, after I threatened to kill you, you could have easily turned me away, but you didn't, and for that, you have my deepest gratitude."  
  
"You had every right to react how you did, considering what I..." He trailed off, casting his gaze down to the bedsheets he was twisting between his fingers. "What I did -- what I was _forced_ to do -- was an unspeakable betrayal. But you need to know, Morgana, that I never wanted to hurt you, and had there been any other way, anything at all, I would have done it."  
  
For so many months she'd permitted the anger and betrayal she felt towards him grow and fester, every reminder of his presence in her life like another stab to the heart. Never before had she been able to consider the possibility that perhaps there had been justification for his actions, nor would she have permitted him the opportunity to even try to explain. But somewhere along the way -- between returning to Camelot, to discovering Merlin's secret, to seeking his assistance to save Arthur's life -- the fury had melted away, the sting of her perceived betrayal dissipated, and she found that everything she thought she'd known had been spun on its axis once again.  
  
"I know, and I believe you," she said at last, finding, rather unsurprisingly, that she truly meant the words.  
  
"Really?" He sounded surprised.  
  
"Well, if you'd told me this a couple months ago, I might not have." Morgana smiled ruefully at him, memories of their last conversation on this topic floating back to her. "But things are different now. So yes, I believe you."  
  
The look of genuine relief and joy that spread across his face convinced Morgana that she'd made the right decision, and they sat smiling at one another for several moments.  
  
"Merlin, I need to ask a favour of you," Morgana said then. She saw little purpose in putting things off, especially when Merlin _was_ still recovering, and the sooner she asked for his help, the sooner she would know if she needed to come up with another plan.  
  
"All right. Well, I'm not sure what you need from me, but I'll do the best I can," he said easily.  
  
Was it really that simple with him, that she could apologise and it was as if nothing had transpired between them in the first place? How Morgana wished she had Merlin's graciousness and forgiving spirit. Of course, she recognised that Merlin must possess extreme patience and a lenient heart to deal with Arthur on a regular basis. She knew with absolute certainty that if she'd ever had to spend more than a few days in Merlin's shoes, the kingdom would be without an heir to the throne very quickly.  
  
"I can't stay in Camelot any longer," she admitted, glancing down at her hands. "While I believe Uther truly does love me, and there are so many important people in my life here, I cannot remain under the same roof as the man who blindly persecutes and slaughters my people. At least not now, considering everything that's happened over the past several months."  
  
Merlin nodded solemnly, lips pressed into a thin line. "I understand, and I don't blame you," he said with genuine sincerity, "but what were you hoping I could do to help?"  
  
In truth, she had the whole plan worked out, right down to the last detail. It would permit her to leave Camelot with legitimate cause and remain gone for several months, if necessary. All she needed from Merlin was one small favour, and everything she'd planned hinged on his assistance.  
  
"I would like to visit Princess Elaine in Shalott for at least a couple of months, if not more than that."  
  
"All right," Merlin said slowly, confusion showing plainly on his face.  
  
Leaning forward, Morgana lowered her voice out of habit as she spoke, even though it was clear that they were the only two occupants in the room. "What I need from you are forged documents inviting me on this extended visit. Her father, Bernard, is the king of Shalott, and is an open supporter and friend of Uther. There should be no reason for him to reject Elaine's request."  
  
A thoughtful look crossed Merlin's face before he nodded. "That should be fine, though I may need some assistance with the wording and with obtaining their family crest."  
  
"Of course." She already had what she needed, prepared and ready in her room, with the hope of getting everything going as quickly as possible.  
  
"But I'm not sure I understand how this will help you," said Merlin, scratching at his chin. "If you're trying to get away from such a harsh stance on magic, why go to a kingdom with similar laws? Also, what will you say to the princess when you arrive, unannounced? Surely they'll ask questions as to why you're there and why you intend to stay for several months?"  
  
"They won't ask any questions because I have no intention of actually going to Shalott," she admitted.  
  
Merlin's brows crinkled as he clearly waited for further explanation. So she provided it to him. "I plan on finding the druids and staying with them. They can help train me on how to properly use my magic in a safe environment, free from constraints and the fear of potential persecution. I've only recently come into my powers, and I don't have the control and level of mastery that you've managed to achieve."  
  
"How will you reach them? There's no way Uther will allow you to travel alone."  
  
"No, you're right. But he'll allow me to leave with my former personal guard providing a safe accompaniment."  
  
"You mean Sir Leon?" Merlin squinted, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Does that mean-- wait, does that mean that he _knows_? About your magic?"  
  
There was a pause and then, "Yes, he does. I told him the truth." Morgana held Merlin's gaze, even as she fought down the blush she knew was creeping up the back of her neck.  
  
"About everything?" His eyes widened in surprise.  
  
"Yes. I felt he needed to know." She stopped herself before she could reveal too much. However, at the slightly panicked look on Merlin's face, she amended her original statement. "Everything about _me_ , Merlin. I've held my tongue about your secret. That is not mine to share."  
  
The relief was obvious. "Thank you," he said with a small smile.  
  
Determined not to stray too far from the purpose of her visit, Morgana attempted to refocus their attention on the matter at hand. "Leon will accompany me outside Camelot, where I hope to be met by the druids disguised as Elaine's retinue. However, I will obviously need your assistance to make sure this plan goes off without a hitch. This can only be done by someone with your skills." She gave him an imploring look, hope and anticipation rising in her chest.  
  
Merlin tilted his head, eyes trained on something across the room for a few moments -- though it felt more like an eternity -- before his gaze flickered back to her. "What if something goes wrong? If you can't find the druids, or Uther figures out the invitation is a fake, or he insists on sending more men with you?"  
  
"You don't have to worry. I can handle the druids and Uther. And you have my solemn promise that no one will ever be able to trace any of this back to you," she assured him. It wasn't likely that he would be plagued with worry over his own role in this plan, considering how blatantly and frequently he used magic to protect Arthur and god knew what else, but she felt compelled to offer the assurance anyway.  
  
"If this is something that will be helpful to you, then I'm glad to do it."  
  
She blinked, unsure if she'd heard him correctly. "You'll do it?"  
  
Nodding, Merlin turned a smile on her. "Of course. It's the least I can do."  
  
There was probably no point in reminding him that there was far less he could be doing. Instead, Morgana nodded, accepting his easy willingness to assist her in this matter, and on a whim, she leaned forward, pulling him into a quick embrace.  
  
"Thank you so much," she breathed into his ear, feeling the heaviness that sat deep within her chest finally start to lift.  
  
"You will come back, won't you?" Merlin asked as she pulled back.  
  
It was, most certainly, the question of the day, and not for the first time did she truly wonder whether she was making the right decision. In fact, she regretted that such an action was necessary at all, but in her heart she knew that if she ever hoped to make any sort of life for herself in Camelot, this was something that was of the utmost necessity.  
  
"Of course," she said, at length, fighting to keep the regret out of her tone. "It will probably feel as though I never left at all. But I know you understand why I must leave for a while."  
  
"I do." He reached out and squeezed her hand.  
  
She nodded and glanced down at her dress, smoothing away an invisible crease from the soft fabric before moving to stand. "I suppose I should be going then. You need your rest, after all."  
  
"Yes. Right. Well, um, bring me what I need and I'll create the documents for you."  
  
With a promise to return as soon as possible, Morgana swept across the room. It wasn't until her hand was poised over the door handle that she heard Merlin call out to her.  
  
"Morgana?"  
  
She turned to glance back at him inquisitively. "Yes?"  
  
There was a long pause, in which he fidgeted and glanced about the room, before he finally managed to spit out what he had to say. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about Morgause. I know-- I mean, it can't have been easy to do what you did. So I just-- I wanted to say thank you, but also to say that I'm sorry. I truly am."  
  
Tears pricked at her eyes instantly, and she sucked in a shaky breath. It still hurt, the pain of losing her sister, no matter how wildly they'd disagreed about the best way to make their people safe. But if there was anyone who might possibly be able to comprehend the enormity of the sacrifices she'd been forced to make, it was Merlin. She smiled, somber but touched all the same. "Thank you, Merlin."  
  
Before he was able to reply, she excused herself from the room, pushing aside all thoughts of Morgause. There was much that needed to be done, now that she knew Merlin was on board, and it required all of her focus.  


* * *

  
  
Over the past several days, Arthur had developed a consistent routine. In the mornings he went on patrol with two of his junior knights, as a way of both training the newest additions and giving the rest of his knights an opportunity to rest from the fight. Besides, being out on patrol gave him something to do, rather than spend his mornings ruminating on Merlin's recovery and twitching to spend time with him instead of attending to his duties like he should. After a quick lunch, Arthur spent a couple of hours in training. Many of the knights had sustained injuries during the fight, so he was taking it easy on them while they recovered. Usually council meetings or open court filled the rest of his afternoon and early evening.  
  
Once the meetings were finished, Arthur spent the remainder of his night with Merlin. He'd been asking the kitchens to send his supper to Gaius' quarters, where he ate with Merlin, and sometimes Gaius. Merlin had remarked on the first evening how it was strange that the cook had sent so much extra food, and so many of his favourites, at which Arthur had simply shrugged and suggested that it must have been Merlin's lucky day. By the third day, they'd shared a knowing smile and Merlin thanked him with a kiss.  
  
As of yet, they hadn't really had an opportunity to explore their newfound intimacy, though it was obvious to Arthur that Merlin very much wanted to, as did he. However, after one particularly awkward conversation with Gaius in which he was informed that Merlin was 'not quite ready for any strenuous exercise' -- which also happened to follow one very intense kiss that Gaius had accidentally witnessed -- Arthur wasn't willing to take any risks on that front just yet. According to Gaius, Merlin was making an unbelievably speedy recovery, but considering the original extent of his injuries, it was a wonder he'd survived at all.  
  
Usually they would eat, and then they would update each other on everything that'd happened in their days. Somehow, despite the fact that Merlin had been temporarily relieved of his duties, he still was up to date on all of the castle gossip (which Arthur suspected was Gwen's doing). In spite of the numerous hours they'd spent with one another, the topic of Merlin's magic had yet to make its way into any of their conversations, though not for lack of effort on Merlin's part. It wasn't that Arthur didn't want to talk about anything, or that he was in denial. He knew it was something they would have to seriously discuss sooner rather than later, but the fact of the matter was that for now, he simply didn't care. Merlin was alive and getting closer to a full recovery with every day that passed, and at present, just being with him was Arthur's entire focus.  
  
It came as quite the shock when Arthur returned from one particularly long council meeting to not only find Merlin in Arthur's room, but sitting on the _floor_ , of all places, a pile of heavy armour sitting at his side, which Arthur knew had not been in his room previously, and rag in hand. Arthur's mood shifted instantaneously from calm to irate.  
  
"Merlin," Arthur said slowly. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"  
  
Merlin glanced up at Arthur, the picture of perfect innocence. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm polishing your armour."  
  
"Let me rephrase the question. _Why_ are you sitting on my floor, polishing my armour, when I very distinctly remember telling you that you had the next two weeks off to recover? And for that matter, how did my armour even make it up here in the first place?"  
  
The look of guilt that briefly flashed across Merlin's face told Arthur more than any words could -- he'd carried it here on his own, probably all in one trip. It shouldn't have come as any surprise to Arthur that Merlin would choose one of the most inopportune times to put some actual effort into behaving like a half-decent servant, but he'd only just regained consciousness five days ago. No matter how quickly he was reportedly recovering, surely he was not ready for actual work just yet.  
  
"Yeah, I know you told me to take two weeks. But I was feeling better this afternoon, so I dismissed Henry for the rest of the day," Merlin said with a little shrug, as if this was nothing significant.  
  
"Wait, what? You--" Arthur sputtered, pointing at him. "Merlin, you can't just _dismiss_ another servant from their duties. You don't have the authority."  
  
"Well, there was no point in having both of us here," said Merlin, ever helpful. He ducked his head and resumed polishing the vambrace still resting on his lap.  
  
Arthur's eyes narrowed and his mouth gaped as he stared down at his obstinate servant, wondering not for the first time if perhaps he'd experienced a more severe knock to the head than first believed. "Have you gone completely _mad_? Of _course_ there's no point in having you both here, because _you_ should be in bed, resting, like Gaius instructed. Does he even know you're _here_?"  
  
"Gaius is too cautious for his own good sometimes," Merlin said by way of response, which essentially told Arthur what he already suspected.  
  
"I assume that's a no, then?"  
  
The responding shrug was ambivalent at best. "He had to see a few patients in the lower town, so he's gone for most of the afternoon and likely the better part of the evening. There was no way I was just going to lie in bed by myself the whole time, so I thought I would come here and at least try to be useful."  
  
Folding his arms, Arthur glared at the long line of armour resting at Merlin's side. "Contrary to what you might think, over-exerting yourself while you're supposed to be recovering from very serious injuries isn't exactly my definition of useful."  
  
"Arthur, I think you're over-reacting here. I'm just cleaning your armour; equipment you need to ensure your safety, I might add."  
  
"While sitting on the hard, stone-cold _floor_ , Merlin." Arthur threw his arms up in the air. "Surely that can't be comfortable for your bony arse, especially in light of everything?"  
  
A sly smile slipped onto Merlin's lips. "Noticed my arse, have you?"  
  
"Don't change the subject," Arthur said, folding his arms, but he felt some of the initial frustration melt away, though only slightly, and only temporarily. "And would you get off the damn floor, please?"  
  
"Arthur, this isn't that big of a deal," Merlin protested as he clambered to his feet, tossing aside the vambrace and rag he held in his hands.  
  
Arthur's eyebrows knitted together, anger flaring again. "It is to me."  
  
"Why? It's not as if I'm hauling buckets of water back and forth for your bath or carrying sacks of potatoes around the castle for the kitchen," he argued, with every bit of the disrespectful insolence Arthur had grown accustomed to over the years. Merlin took a deliberate step forwards and folded his arms to mirror Arthur's stance.  
  
"That's the damn point. You shouldn't be carting around heavy equipment as if you're perfectly fine, when you're not. If you can't do the job yet, then you shouldn't be here."  
  
"But I _can_ do the job. The vast majority of it, anyway. Your armour is lighter than you think. You can call in another servant to do some of the heavy lifting tasks, but otherwise I'm fine."  
  
Arthur gaped at him, disbelieving. That would be fine if he could actually trust Merlin to do what he said, but he knew better than that. "I might be gullible enough to fall for that if I could trust you to hand off those tasks to someone else. But I _know_ you, Merlin, and you'll either decide far too early that you can drag my bathtub across the room unaided, or you'll do something reckless like use your magic publicly. Which will put me in quite a damn predicament, so I'd rather just avoid the whole mess altogether, if you don't mind."  
  
For a few moments, it looked as though Merlin was actually considering Arthur's words. It was possible that he might have said enough to convince Merlin to back down on this. Of course, as soon as he caught the spark in Merlin's eyes, Arthur resigned himself to the fact that he was sorely mistaken. "Have you ever considered that maybe I'm not an invalid and am perfectly capable of performing most of my regular duties?"  
  
That claim was laughable at best, but Arthur decided to let it drop in favour of trying to make Merlin understand where he was coming from.  
  
"And have _you_ ever considered that maybe _I_ don't want to see you re-injure yourself because you're too damn _stupid_ to just take a few extra days off?"  
  
Merlin scowled deeply at Arthur. "I'm sorry if you think I'm stupid for wanting to serve you, _sire_ ," he ground out. "But I was bored and I missed you, though why, considering how much of an insufferable arse you are, I have no idea. I wanted to be _useful_ , Arthur, so shoot me for it." He held both hands up in a mocking gesture of surrender.  
  
Scrubbing a hand down his face, Arthur allowed his arms to fall down at his side. "Merlin, it's not just about this, it's about you constantly throwing yourself in harm's way for my benefit, and I'm bloody sick and tired of it."  
  
"I hardly think that bringing you breakfast or changing your sheets counts as 'throwing myself in harm's way' for you," said Merlin, incredulous.  
  
Arthur buried both hands in his hair, tugging at his scalp in frustration. Why did Merlin insist on being so stubborn about every single thing, ever? "That's not the point."  
  
"Then what is? That I was sitting on the cold floor?" He gestured wildly towards the spot that he'd just vacated. "Fine, I'll sit at the table next time, or better yet, in your bed. I don't understand why you're ready to take my head off for _showing up for work_ , like I'm supposed to."  
  
"For god's sake, Merlin, because I love you, and I don't want anything bad to happen to you, that's why. So would you just stop _arguing_ with me, for _once_ , and do what I damn well ask? _Please_?"  
  
A beat passed before the implication of his words caught up to him, and he felt his arms come up slightly, as though about to reach out to snare the words and stuff them back into his mouth. Heat pricked at the back of his neck as he stared, frozen, at Merlin. Maybe if he kept still for long enough, Merlin would just go away. Maybe he could convince Merlin later that this was all a fever dream.  
  
The small part of his mind not consumed with silent hysteria noted with cool interest that he could see the exact moment when his words registered in Merlin's mind. Merlin opened his mouth -- likely to continue with his tirade -- and suddenly stopped cold, eyes widening in disbelief and his hand falling to his side. "What did you say?"  
  
"Nothing," Arthur said too loudly. He could feel a flush slowly spreading across his face, and willed Merlin not to notice.  
  
"No, no. I distinctly heard you say _something_ ," Merlin drawled, an impish grin sneaking up on his face, argument apparently abandoned in favour of pursuing this avenue. He pointed at Arthur. "Did you just-- did you say that you love me?"  
  
Arthur tried for a scoff. It came out more like a strangled cry. "I have no idea what you're talking about."  
  
But Merlin was already advancing on him, until there was little more than a foot or two of space between them. "I think you do. In fact, I _know_ you do."  
  
An artful, pithy response failed to materialise on his lips as Merlin's arms looped around his waist, and a mischievous grin filled his vision. This did not bode well for future disagreements. Quite unconsciously, Arthur's gaze dropped to Merlin's lips -- pink and full and just begging to be kissed -- and he swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the rapidly vanishing distance between them. It turned out to be a more challenging task than he anticipated.  
  
"I think it's your head wound. I think you're hallucinating," he said, failing spectacularly to sound convincing.  
  
Merlin, predictably, ignored his argument altogether. "Did you mean it?" His voice was uncharacteristically coy as he glanced at Arthur through dark lashes.  
  
"Mean what?"  
  
The response earned Arthur a gentle slap on the arm, and Arthur fought to keep his expression neutral.  
  
"You know what I'm talking about, Arthur. That you--" A pause, and then, softly, "That you love me. Did you mean that?"  
  
The simple fact of the matter was that Arthur could answer that question with just one word. Succinct, and yet wholly inadequate. Then again, he could answer that question with a thousand words and still find them lacking. Merlin wanted it spelt out in great big letters, but how could mere _words_ encompass the depth of what Arthur felt? Besides, there was a much better way of showing Merlin just what he meant.  
  
Arthur leaned forward and pressed their lips together, silencing any further questions. Merlin melted into his embrace instantly, warm hands seeking his skin, each touch sending a jolt of heat through Arthur, searing the sense memories into his mind and body. No matter how many times they did this, Arthur didn't think he'd ever tire of the feel of Merlin beneath his hands, the taste of him in his mouth, the warmth that spread through every inch of his body like fire. He coaxed Merlin's mouth open easily, tongue slipping inside, eager to explore and taste, as one hand fisted in the hair at the back of Merlin's head. The other gripped his hip, fingers digging into the flesh and holding him in place. What began as a soft kiss quickly progressed to something hot and wild, a feral element underlying the movement of their mouths, and Arthur felt dizzy with desire.  
  
They stumbled towards the bed, nearly falling over twice along the way, a mess of limbs and partially shed clothing, moving as one. Arthur pressed into Merlin when they hit the edge of the mattress, and in the next moment, they were collapsing onto its soft surface, lips and limbs still entwined.  
  
A short, strangled gasp flew from Merlin's mouth when, quite by accident, Arthur landed directly on his chest, shoulder digging in until he forcefully shoved away, guilt immediately clawing at his insides.  
  
"God, Merlin, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you."  
  
"It's all right, I'm fine, Arthur." One of Merlin's hands found its way to Arthur's cheek while the other rested on his chest, fingers splayed across the rough fabric of his tunic.  
  
"Maybe this is a bad idea," Arthur said, rolling over onto his back and staring up at the canopy above his head as he struggled to catch his breath.  
  
"No. No, it's not," Merlin insisted, chest heaving. "I'm fine. Just a bit tender still, that's all."  
  
"Which probably means that now is not the best time for--" he waved a hand around "--this." Much as he wanted it. God, how he wanted it, more than anything he could ever recall wanting. But at the same time, Arthur was not willing to do anything to put Merlin at risk. Never mind the fact that Gaius would probably have him flayed (which, of course, would be treason to the crown, but being the oldest and wisest man in the castle allowed him to get away with a lot of things). Besides, he would never be able to forgive himself if Merlin somehow managed to further injure himself because Arthur was too busy trying to satisfy his own needs.  
  
Merlin turned to stare at him. "I'm not some fragile little flower, Arthur," he said, scowling. "I am _fine_. Better than fine, actually. I just don't have my full strength back yet."  
  
"Do you have any idea what Gaius will do to me if I hurt you? What exactly are we supposed to tell him we were doing?" Even the mere _thought_ of having that conversation was enough to make Arthur shiver.  
  
"Gaius isn't the one you need to be worried about right now." Merlin reached out and clasped one of Arthur's hands, placing it on top of his crotch. He arched up, pressing his very obvious erection into Arthur's palm. "You've created a bit of a situation here, in case that wasn't obvious, and I refuse to walk all the way back to Gaius' like this. It's very uncomfortable. So either you take care of it, or I will, before I leave. Your choice."  
  
It was, without a doubt, the filthiest form of blatant disrespect Arthur had ever heard. Worse, he _liked_ it. The idea of watching Merlin bring himself off sent jolts of heat down to his already painfully hard erection. But the thought of tasting Merlin, touching him and coaxing moans from his lips, of making him come from Arthur's hands and mouth alone... well, he'd be a fool to pass it up.  
  
Arthur's fingers curled around the bulge in Merlin's trousers, rubbing him through the fabric, and he smiled at Merlin's surprised little gasp. "Don't make me regret this," he said, rolling back onto his side so he could press a kiss to the corner of Merlin's mouth.  
  
"You won't," he said, voice filled with promise.  
  
Sitting up, he pointed at Merlin, then to the head of the bed. "Get your clothes off and lie down. And stop talking about Gaius."  
  
"You started it." Merlin grinned cheekily at him, and pulled the knot of his scarf loose.  
  
Normally, Arthur would do the deed himself -- would love nothing more than to peel the clothing from Merlin's body, in fact -- but in this case, he wanted to take as many precautions as he could. Thankfully, Merlin wasn't complaining any longer, stripping with a deftness that belied his injuries, and he was settled against the soft pillows before Arthur had even managed to remove his own trousers.  
  
"Eager, are we?" Arthur teased with a satisfied smirk.  
  
"You have no idea," said Merlin.  
  
Arthur quickly shed the rest of his clothes and climbed onto the bed, permitting himself a moment to take in the sight of Merlin, naked and spread out before him. Merlin was a mass of contradictions -- dark hair against white skin, a mix of sharp lines and smooth curves, piercing blue eyes offset with a gentle, tentative smile -- but his attractiveness was undeniable, and Arthur's only regret was that he hadn't realised this sooner. Merlin was still far too thin for his own good, but Arthur resolved to take care of that, take care of _him_. His gaze dropped to Merlin's swollen cock, erect and leaking against his stomach, before eventually settling on the gash across Merlin's chest. It was healing quickly, but there were still scars that remained, likely to never fully heal, a constant reminder of the moment when Arthur realised he loved Merlin before nearly losing him.  
  
Reaching out, his fingers ghosted across the lines left on Merlin's pale skin, tracing every dip and curve across his chest as though committing the sensation to memory. He swallowed, tongue thick and heavy, as the thought of Merlin's near death plagued him once more.  
  
"I don't want you to do that ever again," he whispered, his gaze fixed on the fading scars on Merlin's chest.  
  
"Arthur--" Merlin said, his fingers curling around his wrist and squeezing lightly. "It's all right. I'm fine."  
  
But Arthur shook his head. "No, it's not all right, Merlin. You almost died. I nearly lost you. I can't have that happen again."  
  
Merlin's fingers travelled up his arm, rounding the curve of his shoulder, and settled around the back of his neck. "Come here," he said softly, pulling Arthur down, and then rising up on one elbow to meet Arthur halfway. He pressed a gentle kiss to Arthur's mouth, letting his presence anchor Arthur to the here and now.  
  
Even as he let go of his fears for the moment, there was a part of Arthur that knew Merlin was only avoiding a request he would never agree to, but there would be occasion for that conversation later. They had _time_ now.  
  
"You promise me you'll tell me if I do anything that hurts you?" he asked then, as he lowered himself down, covering Merlin's body with his own, face inches away.  
  
" _Yes_ , Arthur. Now, would you please just shut up already?"  
  
Merlin's hands threaded through his hair, tugging Arthur's head down until their lips met. Unlike before, this kiss was slow, exploratory, as though Merlin planned on spending the rest of the day doing nothing but this. His tongue coaxed Arthur's mouth open, slipping inside with ease and familiarity. Their tongues chased one another, darting in and out of each other's mouths, slick and hot. His mouth moved against Arthur's easily, knowing when to pull back and when to delve in deeper. Arthur allowed him to dictate their pace, and he found a strange sense of freedom in relinquishing some of his usual control.  
  
The kiss deepened, hot and slightly desperate, as Arthur began slowly rocking his hips against Merlin's, relishing the rush of arousal pooling in his groin as their cocks brushed back and forth against one another. They were both panting as Merlin moaned into Arthur's open mouth, fingers leaving a trail of heat down Arthur's spine until they found his arse.  
  
"God, Arthur," Merlin rasped, as Arthur pulled back to tongue his way down Merlin's throat, exploring every dip and hollow. His skin was soft, salty, leaving Arthur hungry for more.  
  
He trailed wet, hot kisses down Merlin's chest, pausing only to flick and swirl his tongue over Merlin's pebbled nipples, the contented whimpers and moans spurring him onwards, each noise shooting another spike of arousal through Arthur's body. He pressed a soft kiss to the tip of Merlin's cock before nipping at the flesh of his inner thigh, one hand curling around his balls, rolling them between his fingers until Merlin was arching off the bed, groaning desperately.  
  
Finishing with Merlin's thighs, Arthur placed a series of kisses up the length of his cock, finally casting a questioning glance in Merlin's direction, eyebrows lifted, requesting permission.  
  
"Arthur, _yes_. Please, yes," Merlin groaned, and it was all the encouragement Arthur required.  
  
He wanted nothing more than to take Merlin apart, to feel him writhing and begging for more as Arthur swallowed him down and led him towards his release.  
  
Settling properly between Merlin's thighs, Arthur wet his lips before leaning forwards. He curled his lips around the tip of Merlin's cock, swirling his tongue across the head before slowly taking Merlin's length into his mouth. It took a few tries to position himself properly, but once he figured out the best angle, Arthur was able to take all of Merlin in his mouth, smiling around the noises of pleasure that came from him in turn.  
  
They started off slowly, until both found a rhythm. Arthur kept his eyes trained on Merlin as he worked his own magic, fascinated by every twitch of muscle, every moan of pleasure, the dark lashes that framed his eyes, black with desire. Merlin fisted his hands in Arthur's hair, holding him in place as he thrust his cock into the heat of Arthur's mouth, breath laboured as he tried to quicken the pace.  
  
Merlin chanted his name reverently, the words a mantra flowing freely past his lips, filled with praise and encouragement, and Arthur knew he was close to finding his release.  
  
Arthur tightened his lips around Merlin's cock as much as he was able, guiding Merlin's hips with his hands until he finally came with a loud groan, words garbled and unintelligible. Arthur pulled back as Merlin's come filled his mouth. Swallowing, Arthur straightened and curled into Merlin's side as their mouths met once more, his cock straining against his stomach. Merlin licked his way into Arthur's mouth as a hand reached out to grasp his shoulder, pulling him in close.  
  
Trailing his fingers down Arthur's arm to his chest, Merlin's hand finally moved to wrap around his cock, his grasp firm yet gentle. He brushed a thumb across the head, pressing into the slit, before tugging once experimentally, as though gauging Arthur's reaction. At Arthur's stilted moan, Merlin began to stroke him in earnest. Despite the awkward angle, it felt glorious, as if Merlin's hands had specifically been formed to do this, and much to Arthur's embarrassment, he knew that he wouldn't last long at all.  
  
Lips brushed against his nose, cheek, and then chin before they pressed against Arthur's mouth, kissing him fervently, and Arthur gave himself up to it all, surrendering to the intoxicating feel of Merlin's touch. He jerked his hips into Merlin's hand, seeking as much friction as he could find, pulse racing and heart soaring in tandem.  
  
"Come on, Arthur. Come for me," Merlin whispered, his voice like silk, husky and liquid, as he twisted his wrist just like _that_ , and it was all Arthur needed. With a stifled cry, Merlin's name on his lips like a prayer, Arthur came, spilling over Merlin's hands and across his stomach as he guided him through wave after wave of pleasure until he was utterly spent.  
  
They lay side by side, unmoving, for a while, smiling at nothing and everything. When Arthur felt the use of his limbs come back, he cleaned them both up, and then settled back under the covers, curling up against Merlin's back and wrapping an arm around his waist. It didn't particularly matter that it was early evening, and they both still had things to attend to. All that mattered was that they were here, together, and there was nowhere else he wanted to be. Arthur buried his face in Merlin's neck, pressing a series of light kisses against his skin as the sound of Merlin's contented sigh filled his ears.  
  
"I did, you know," Arthur said softly, when their breathing had slowed and it seemed as though sleep was on the horizon.  
  
It took a moment before Merlin's tired voice drifted back towards him. "You did what?"  
  
"Mean it. What I said before."  
  
Several beats passed in silence as Merlin's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and Arthur vaguely began to wonder if he had fallen asleep. Closing his eyes, he settled in to try to have a brief nap as well, when suddenly a voice cut through his drowsy haze.  
  
"I love you, too, Arthur. Even if you are a huge dollophead most of the time."  
  
Maybe it was the stress of the last couple of weeks, the emotional impact of finally being able to be with Merlin, or the hazy afterglow of sex, but hearing those words filled Arthur with a deep sense of contentment, and for the second time in a week, he found himself nearly moved to tears.  
  
Scolding himself for turning into a sentimental sap -- he was not a girl, and would not permit himself to melt into a puddle of liquid every time Merlin made his stomach flip -- Arthur pushed down those feelings long enough to say, "Merlin?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Do shut up."  
  
Merlin chuckled softly. "Yes, fine. Whatever you say, sire."  
  


* * *

 

Under the dull light of a pre-dawn sky, the courtyard was a flutter of activity, with servants bustling to and fro under Uther's stern commands. There wasn't actually that much to be done, all things considered, but everybody wanted to look busy while Uther had his eye on the proceedings, and in fairly short order, Morgana's horse was laden with the supplies for her journey to Shalott, half of which she would no doubt have absolutely no use for.  
  
Morgana moved away from her window as the activity died down, fastening the brooch on her travelling cloak. She wasn't taking many personal possessions with her, but the room still looked emptier somehow, her presence leached out of it. She trailed her fingers along a bedpost; she would miss Camelot this time around.  
  
It had been easy fooling Uther into thinking Merlin's forged documents were a cheery invitation from Princess Elaine for an extended visit to Shalott; after all, Morgana had done it several times over the years, cultivating friendly relations and goodwill, and making another trip there now was nothing out of the ordinary.  
  
What hadn't been easy was convincing him to let her go without the usual cortege. Even though he believed the immediate threat posed by Morgause was gone, there was no telling what other dangers there might be, and he said as much. Through sheer persistence and no small amount of sweet-talking she'd worn him down, but even so, he was still averse to letting her leave the castle. It was a reluctance borne of love, and as overbearing and misguided as it was, she knew it was Uther's only way of showing his concern; he wasn't an affectionate man by nature, nor would his royal status publicly allow it, and over the years, fear had become its only outlet.  
  
Understanding Uther, however, was not the same as indulging him. There were days when she loved his company, and others when every word he spoke seemed intended to stir up her anger; she had heard more than enough from him in the past few days, whether in triumph at having defeated Morgause or in bitterness that he still had yet to eradicate the world of her kind, to know that staying on at Camelot indefinitely would only lead to trouble again. As it was, she could barely stand it anymore, surrounded at every turn by Uther's twisted ideals and constrained to show impassivity at his words, or worse, to give encouragement, as his council was forced to do.  
  
It was affirmation, Morgana told herself, that she had made the right decision in leaving. If she did not, sooner or later she would crack, and all her intentions to forge a peaceful future would end up in shards on the floor like everything her magic had destroyed in the frenzy of her nightmares.  
  
She needed the time and tutelage for that, too. Magic was dangerous in the wrong hands, she knew, but she hadn't even had the chance to mould hers yet. But the longer she let her magic remain unfettered and uncontrolled, the higher the chances of unexpected mishaps, and the last thing she wanted was for her emotions to get the better of her again while she still had no means of trammelling her magic.  
  
There was a light knock on her door, followed quickly by Merlin poking his head in. "Still here?"  
  
"Should you be out of bed?" Morgana asked, her arms darting out as he came in, afraid he might topple over at any moment.  
  
"I'm fine; I feel a lot better now," Merlin said, his cheeks reddening slightly as though embarrassed for some reason. "Er, I didn't know when you were going. I wanted to come and say goodbye."  
  
His words slanted upwards, as if asking permission, and Morgana reached out to squeeze his hand, unutterably glad that they had made their peace with each other. Friends were hard to come by in these times, and forgiveness even more so, but she had found both in Merlin, despite everything they'd gone through. There was still a long way to go before reaching the same level of confidence and familiarity they'd once had in each other, but they were moving in the right direction, at least.  
  
Seized by a sudden wave of sentimentality, she asked, "Come with me?"  
  
For a moment it seemed as though he might actually consider the offer, but Merlin shook his head reluctantly. "Arthur needs me here," he said, crooking a smile. "All those dirty socks, you know. Won't wash themselves."  
  
"He's lucky to have you."  
  
"That's what I keep telling him," Merlin said, and stepped forward hesitantly. "You'll be all right?"  
  
"I'll be fine. Sir Leon is accompanying me part of the way, and I've asked Gwen to stay behind to help Gaius while you're recuperating," Morgana said, "so maybe you should look poorly for a little longer; corroborate my story?"  
  
Merlin grinned. "I will crawl back into bed at once and moan a lot."  
  
"I'm sure Arthur will be only too happy to look after you," she said, giving him a meaningful look.  
  
He blushed, but laughed softly. "Erm, take care of yourself, all right?"  
  
"I will; don't worry," Morgana replied.  
  
She gave Merlin a quick hug, and he loped out of the room, the ghost of his smile spurring her courage along. If he had managed to carve out a life for himself under Camelot's laws, all the while protecting the land and the people he loved, there was no reason she couldn't do it, too. Camelot was her home; she would come back to it before long, and with any luck, strong enough this time to face her own abilities and circumstances without fear.  
  
Morgana stepped out into the corridor, closing her chamber doors behind her, and strode down into the courtyard, where Uther and Arthur were waiting to see her off. Uther met her with a smile, though concern was visible in his eyes.  
  
"Are you sure this is wise?" Uther said in a low voice, not for the first -- or indeed, sixth -- time. "I can spare more guards; dozens, if you want them."  
  
"No," Morgana said hastily. "I assure you, my lord, everything will be fine. Sir Leon will be with me, and King Bernard's men are meeting us just outside the city walls. Nothing can go wrong."  
  
"You know I worry about you."  
  
"I do," she said, patting his hand fondly, "but there's nothing to worry about. You trusted Sir Leon to take care of me in the castle, didn't you? His protection is more than I need."  
  
Uther glanced sideways to where Leon was standing, clad in full mail and a thoroughly stoic demeanour.  
  
"It's only a short journey," Morgana went on, soothing as a summer breeze, "and besides, you are king. Your people are your first priority, and you need the men for rebuilding all the places that were destroyed in the battle."  
  
Uther nodded slowly. "Yes, you're right, of course," he said.  
  
"My lady," said Leon, walking towards them, "it's getting light."  
  
"Yes, we should go," Morgana said quickly, seizing her chance while Uther was still somewhat agreeable. Anxiety prickled her spine, but Uther said nothing more, pulling her into a tight embrace, and she returned it with equal warmth.  
  
Striding forwards, Arthur offered his hand and helped her mount the horse. When she was safely astride, his mouth twisted slightly, as if he was struggling to say something. "Are you sure--" he began.  
  
"Don't you start, too," Morgana said.  
  
Arthur lifted his palms in surrender. "I was only going to ask if you're sure you want to see King Bernard again when he was clearly trying to thrust his idiot son at you last time you were there," he said innocently. "Though, of course, if you give him half as much hell as you give me, I'm sure he'll go off you in no time."  
  
"Oh, please," she said from her superior perch, "you love me and you know it."  
  
"Slander," Arthur said, grinning.  
  
She reached down to clutch his hand for a moment, sharing his smile, and then urged her horse on before anyone could change their minds. Leon fell in beside her, and soon the castle was receding behind them, its weight on her shoulders growing smaller and smaller the more distance they covered.  
  
There was no hurry, so they kept a slow, steady pace, talking occasionally of inconsequential matters. A gentle breeze fluttered desultorily alongside, shepherding them onwards. To the sides of the path, trees unfurled their limbs to the dawn, and a symphony of birdsong, at once consonant and discordant, reflected Morgana's inner thoughts. She knew she was doing right by herself to seek the druids' care, but every so often, as she glanced over at her companion, something would twist her heart a little, wind it just too tight for a second.  
  
Becoming friends with Leon had been unexpected, but not unwelcome, and she knew he would always remain a trusted confidant; what romance had sprung up between them, however, was still so wild and new, and as much as she looked forward to taking leave of Camelot for the time being, there was a part of her, too, that longed to stay -- for him. He had made few overt attempts to persuade her to stay, knowing her mind, but each time their fingers laced together and their lips touched, she could feel the silent entreaty, and more than once had been tempted to give in to it.  
  
It wasn't fair to Leon, she decided, to leave this thread knotted between them, to have him feel some obligation to her while she went away. They were friends, and that she wouldn't change for the world, but there was so much yet unexplored and unsaid between them in the matters of their hearts. The idea of pursuing something beyond friendship had barely even begun to take shape; she had no claim to his devotion and no right to ask for it while they were apart. She would think of him often, and fondly, but she wouldn't ask for it in return.  
  
The meeting place wasn't far now, and Morgana tugged on her reins, slowing her horse to an eventual halt; seeing this, Leon did the same, but looked at her with a question in his eyes.  
  
"We'll be there soon; do you mind if we walk the rest of the way?" she asked.  
  
"No, of course not," Leon replied, and got off his horse quickly. He offered her his hand as she dismounted, and she kept hold of it, a warm, reassuring anchor, as they took their horse's reins and moved onwards on foot.  
  
"Leon," she said, darting a glance at him out of the corner of her eye, "I want to thank you for being so kind. It has meant so much to me, and I wouldn't be here without you."  
  
He tilted his head curiously at her. "You're not saying goodbye already?"  
  
"Well, I--" Morgana faltered, the difference between what she needed and what she wanted to say pulling the words back before they could even leave her mouth. She took a breath, and forced them out. "I just thought-- I don't want you to feel like you have to be bound to me. I know I'm going away at an inopportune time, when we've--" she gestured widely, not sure how to encompass the whole of their attachment "--only just begun. If somebody else comes along..."  
  
Leon shook his head, calm as ever, even slightly amused. "She wouldn't be able to hold a candle to you," he said. "Not even if she set the whole castle on fire."  
  
Morgana laughed softly.  
  
"I'm willing to wait," he said. "However long you need, Morgana; I'll still be here."  
  
"I won't be gone long," she said, squeezing his hand as much to reassure him as to give herself something to hold on to, as she waited for the sweet swell of her heart to wane again. "A few months at most. I'll write often."  
  
He smiled. "And I'll make sure your fake letters make it into the king's hands."  
  
She reached up, her palm moulding to the curve of his jaw, grazing the corner of his smile with her thumb. "I really couldn't have done any of this without you. Sometimes I wonder how I could even deserve you."  
  
"Isn't that my decision to make?"  
  
Morgana conceded the point with a nod.  
  
"Then I will tell you this: it is my honour to serve you, and my privilege to care for you. And I do, very much so. If you take nothing else with you from these past weeks, at least take to heart my regard for you. When you return, you will find it unchanged."  
  
What then was there for her to do but wrap her arms around him and hold him as tightly as she could? Even pressed against his armour, Morgana felt nothing but warmed to the core, blessed beyond measure.  
  
After that there was no need for any more words, and they continued the rest of their short journey, hands clasped, until they came near to the border of the city and a small group of men costumed in the livery of King Bernard's household stepped into view. Even in the uniforms, there was something ethereal about them that made Morgana feel at once comforted and comfortable in their presence.  
  
"We welcome you, Morgana Le Fay," said the druid at the forefront of the group, inclining his head.  
  
She nodded her thanks to them, and turned to Leon. He smiled softly at her, and she lifted herself onto her toes and kissed him goodbye. It was nothing searing, nothing desperate, just a simple, sweet kiss in the understanding that nothing between them would change, even through the next few months of separation.  
  
Leon stood and watched them go as the druids guided Morgana deep into the forest, until its wild foliage obscured her from his view at last. In the canopy above, the sussuration of the wind through the trees sounded like a thousand little sighs, but with Leon's words tucked safely in her memory, Morgana released the last of her doubts to the fading wind, and walked on.  
  


* * *

  
  
She was only one, but the castle seemed so much quieter without Morgana. This time, thankfully, it was not the quiet borne of grief, but just the curious emptiness of expecting to see someone along the corridor when there's no one there.  
  
Then again, Merlin mused, maybe the quiet was only because Arthur wasn't reeling off a list of hundreds of things for him to do. Arthur had made himself scarce in the late afternoon, and his dinner, long gone limp and cold, would have to be slopped in with the dogs' feed soon if he didn't come back to his chambers within the next ten minutes.  
  
Merlin sat on a chair, diligently polishing a pair of boots, letting the time pass. He knew exactly where Arthur would have gone in search of a little piece of solitude, and could picture him as he stood atop the battlements, arms folded across his chest, looking out over the rolling fields and beyond that would someday all be his. He could stay up there for hours if circumstances allowed -- if there weren't beasts to be vanquished, sorcerers to hunt down, disputes to settle, Uther's orders to bow to -- and with everything unfolding as it had in the last few days, Merlin figured that leaving him to his thoughts for a while was the best course of action.  
  
It was plain to see that Arthur, despite any protestations to the contrary, needed some time to fully process what had transpired between them. For his part, Merlin didn't regret a thing -- possibly he would have liked for his magic to have been revealed to Arthur in a safer, more contained, more controlled manner, but there was nothing to be done about that now. And if Arthur was still a bit passively angry about Merlin constantly saving his life by throwing his own into harm's way, there wasn't anything to be done about that either. Arthur didn't know about their destiny yet, but Merlin had been privy to it for a long time now, and protecting Arthur at any cost was quite simply something he was meant to do.  
  
But even if it wasn't, even if the threads of destiny weren't holding them together, Merlin suspected he'd have found a way to hold on to Arthur anyway. Given everything they had gone through, Merlin couldn't imagine serving anyone else, or, for that matter, loving anyone else. In the end, it wasn't up to destiny to decide the affairs of their hearts, or the course of their lives. He remembered the Great Dragon damning Morgana to darkness, condemning her for a future already written in the stars; no doubt she had come close to fulfilling his words, but when it came time, she had looked destiny in the face and, of her own accord, turned her back on it. Merlin's destiny wasn't as harsh a road as hers, and for that he was thankful; he was grateful that it had made his path tangle with Arthur's. Learning that he'd landed in Camelot for a fated purpose was what had spurred his actions in the beginning, when he didn't recognise Arthur for who he was beyond a big-headed, arrogant braggart, but in truth he didn't really need to hold on to that knowledge anymore. He didn't need destiny to tell him that Arthur was worth fighting for, worth dying for. Every beat of his heart told him that much and more.  
  
Losing the light as the sun began its slow descent behind the hills, Merlin abandoned the boots. He picked up the laden salver from Arthur's table and trekked to the kitchen, depositing the tray there and filching something more portable to bring to Arthur.  
  
He wound his way up a series of corkscrew stairs and found Arthur, as expected, leaning over a merlon, staring out into the distance, the fading sunlight gilding his hair. Warmth sparked in Merlin's chest.  
  
"You missed dinner," Merlin said, coming forwards. He unwrapped a square of cloth, offering the bread and cheese he'd secreted inside.  
  
Arthur accepted it with nodded thanks. He tore off a mouthful of bread, chewing thoughtfully, his gaze darting to Merlin more than once. "Have you ever wondered," he asked at length, "what your life might have been like if you'd never come to Camelot?"  
  
"Can't say as I have. Why? Have you?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Merlin looked at him expectantly. It wasn't often that Arthur got philosophical, and when he did, he sometimes required a bit of urging, otherwise he'd either disappear into his thoughts again or leave off embarrassed, as if he should have been spending his time doing something more worthwhile than thinking.  
  
"And?" Merlin prompted.  
  
"Well, my chambers would be a lot cleaner, for a start," Arthur said, and grinned when Merlin made a groaning noise. He nudged Merlin's shoulder with affection and a bit more force than necessary. He squinted into the orange sky. "Not that it would matter, though, since without you, I guess I'd be dead. Several times over, in fact. Merlin," he said, frowning minutely, "I don't know how to repay you."  
  
"I don't do it for payment, Arthur," Merlin said, wondering if he ought to feel insulted. "I don't want anything in return."  
  
"Really? Because I was thinking of giving you a few days off, but if you don't want them..." Arthur smirked at the wisps of cloud scudding by.  
  
"A few days off?" Merlin huffed. "Is that all it's worth to you?"  
  
Arthur chuckled. "Oho, now we get to the haggling, do we? What's it worth to _you_?"  
  
"I don't know. Permanent immunity from mucking out the stables, maybe."  
  
"Done."  
  
"Really?"  
  
Arthur cocked his head, studying Merlin. "No, probably not."  
  
"You, sire, are an arse. Dunno why I put up with you, really."  
  
Arthur's lips pulled upwards, but it was barely a smile. "I don't know either, Merlin," he said, his face solemn now. "When I think of everything you've done -- and believe me, I've had plenty of time to put all the pieces together while you were on your deathbed -- when I think of all the risks you've taken... Merlin, you know the laws of Camelot as well as I do; there's no mercy. You've seen sorcerers die again and again at my father's hand. Why do you stay?"  
  
"You already know the answer to that, Arthur."  
  
"We do have _very_ good cooks in the castle."  
  
Merlin laughed, thumping Arthur's arm with a loose fist. "Shut up, Arthur; it's you. You know it's you."  
  
"Yeah." He gave Merlin a small smile. "Are you sure it's worth it?"  
  
"If you weren't," Merlin said, answering the question he knew Arthur had intended to ask, "I'd have left ages ago. But you are, so here I am. Here we are. And I'm not leaving, so don't bother trying to kick me out for my own good or anything. I could easily find my way back anyway; I'm what you call _magic_." Here he wiggled his fingers like a street performer trying to entice coins out of the crowd's purses.  
  
Arthur frowned at the waggly hands. "I'm serious, Merlin."  
  
"So am I."  
  
"If my father finds out about you--"  
  
"He won't. I've been really careful." At Arthur's glare, he amended, stiltedly, "I will be more careful in the future."  
  
"If my father finds out about you," Arthur said again, a little more forcefully this time, and clapped a tight hand to Merlin's shoulder, "I _will_ do everything in my power to protect you. You need to know, Merlin, that-- that you're worth it, too. And that your life is no less important than mine; I won't have you trying to throw yours away every time mine is in danger, do you understand? I won't have it."  
  
"I can't promise that," Merlin said, and shook his head with vehemence when Arthur tried to interject. "You're the future king; without you, there can be no Albion. Greatness is your destiny, Arthur. Mine, and what I _can_ promise, is to be at your side every step of the way as long as I live, if you'll have me."  
  
Arthur's hand moved up from Merlin's shoulder to the side of his face; the pads of his fingers, dry and callused from years of learning to master every weapon in the armoury, drew gentle lines of friction across Merlin's cheek. Merlin leaned into the warmth of his palm. With a hushed step, Arthur drew closer and pressed his mouth to Merlin's, sealing the promise on his lips.  
  
"Always, Merlin."

 

 


End file.
